Shadows of the Heart
by Driven2Insanity
Summary: Shadow has too much power and not enough control. Her past is broken. Can a certain serial killer help heal her wounds -- without killing her in the process? OC/Sylar
1. Running

Shadow was running. Of course she was. Running, running, always running, the night growing darker as she journeyed further into the heart of the city. The sound of her pounding feet echoed down the deserted alley as she finally slowed to a walk. It was safe by now. _I hope._ The long shadows closed in around her, but she could see her surroundings as clearly as though the sun shone overhead.

_Comes with the territory, I guess._ Shadow tried to ignore the way that the dark seemed to lap at her feet, her personal ocean of night. Not that she disliked the presence of darkness – it was almost comforting, really – but sometimes she wished it didn't show such an affinity for _her_. A constant aura of dark, shadows that followed no matter where she went . . . it tended to strike fear in others. She was everything from 'demon' to 'fallen angel' and worse. Did darkness always equate to evil?

Running. Always running.

Shadow paced the length of the alley, tortured by memories, lost in thought. She had first noticed her . . . uniqueness two years ago, at the tender age of 16. After the fight. When the information was revealed that powers manifested when the individual was angry or scared, it made sense. But it still wasn't fair. She never asked for this. _Am I still being punished? _ The uninvited thought crept back into her mind, a constant question in her heart. Was it her fault, because she had yelled and screamed and said unimaginable things in the heat of anger? A sudden approach wrenched her from her pondering.

The arrival of the stranger was by no means subtle: the pattern of his heavy steps indicated running, and his labored breathing reached her ears at the same moment he entered her line of sight.

Shadow locked eyes with the stranger for a split second, chocolate brown to midnight black; his dark eyes filled with anger and suspicion before he raised his hand toward her. She panicked, which immediately flooded the alley with pitch-black darkness.

_Damn._ Shadow stilled and held her breath, listening. She didn't have to wait long. A few seconds passed, then the silent night was broken by the sound of someone tripping over random objects, immediately followed by the sickening, unmistakable _crack!_ as skull slammed into brick wall.

_Ah, shit_, Shadow groaned, gesturing absentmindedly in the air. The unnatural darkness slowly retreated, like the tide being pulled back out to sea. When the moon and stars could be seen in the sky again, she moved to investigate the damage she had wrought. Sure enough, the man had run headfirst into the wall, knocking himself unconscious. Shadow could see the blood streaming from the gash on his head. She fought to keep herself calm; head wounds always bled more than others . . . right?

As she watched him and worked her mind, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation (leave him at a hospital? leave him _here_?), Shadow noticed something astounding and frightening. The bloody streak that ripped across the man's forehead was shrinking. Becoming smaller. Closing. Shadow's eyes widened, staring at the wound healing itself. Soon, so quickly she could have blinked and missed it, the flesh was smooth and free of injury. Shadow reeled; of course she knew of the rumors, the whispers of regeneration 'specials,' but this was the first she had encountered. He was still unconscious, though, and still presented the dilemma of what to do with him. Shadow peered closer, examining the man. There was something familiar about the disorder of his thick, black hair . . . his heavy eyebrows . . . the gorgeous but terrifying lines of his face . . .

_Oh, no,_ she thought, _not him._

Her mind screamed at her to run. Run from this man, this killer, run because he would bring nothing but pain. But Shadow rarely listened to her head. And her heart told her that she had caused this, so she had to fix it. _Ironic, isn't it?_

Shadow sighed, lifted him onto her shoulder, and began to walk toward the place she called home.

Head resting on her shoulder, her recently-injured victim groaned.

Shadow stroked his hair and whispered his name.

"Sylar."


	2. Tell Me

Sylar woke disoriented with a splitting headache, in a strange environment, lying beneath a blanket that felt neither solid nor liquid nor air. He shot up straight, ignoring the throbbing in his head, throwing off the thin covering; as soon as he touched it, it dissolved, floating up to join the shadows in the far corners of the room. Sylar frowned, breathing fast, and surveyed his surroundings.

The room was simple: very spacious, containing exceptionally little furniture, and curiously darker than normal rooms ought to be. In addition to the couch where he had been placed, Sylar noted a double bed in the corner of the room where it seemed light could not touch, with a sole occupant. A girl, judging by the spill of hair across the pillow and the shape of the form under the sheets and blankets. He felt his heart speed up. She was special, he could tell. She was the reason the room was dark, the reason shadows reached places they shouldn't. He slowly stood, moving stealthily to the side of the bed, raising one arm cautiously to spill her blood . . .

"Don't even think about it." The girl's voice was soft, melodic, but there was a command in her tone that shocked Sylar into obeying. He lowered his arm, staring with narrowed eyes. She hadn't opened her eyes – hell, she hadn't even _moved_ – yet she knew that he was there, prepared to kill her for her power. His twisted interest in her blossomed, a curiosity that was sure to end with her death.

"You're thinking about it," she spoke again.

Sylar became annoyed. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do." She finally opened her eyes, spheres the color of melted chocolate, staring up at him. He didn't know what to make of the look on her face, as though she knew everything he could do, but knowing he wouldn't. He didn't like it. "Morning, Sylar."

He took an involuntary step back as she used his name. "You know me?" he whispered, reeling in disbelief.

The girl dragged her head off the pillow, flipping her hair back as she did so, sitting up and stretching lazily. "I know _of_ you," she corrected. She shot him a wry grin. "I think we all do."

She threw off the covers and slipped out of bed, dressed in a tank top and pajama bottoms, padding into the kitchen. Sylar followed, still in a state of shock, noting that the unnatural darkness seemed to lap at her feet like waves against a shore. "Hungry?" she threw over her shoulder.

_Always_, he thought, already feeling the ache to covet her power burning deep inside him. Out loud, he coldly replied, "Not really."

She shrugged carelessly. "Suit yourself." She poured herself a bowl of cereal and leaned against the counter, silently surveying him with her dark, all-too-knowing eyes.

That casual disregard pushed Sylar over the edge; he couldn't help himself any longer. "What _are_ you?" he burst.

Shadow narrowed her eyes, glaring. "First of all, I am a _who_, Sylar, not a _what_." She sighed heavily. "My name is Shadow. As for my ability – thanks for noticing, at least you aren't stupid – I can manipulate darkness and shadow." She stared at him, meeting his eyes evenly, wondering if she was making a mistake, wondering if he could resist killing her.

Sylar warred with himself. Her power . . . he could feel it, and he wanted it – so badly – but something was stopping him. Something stronger than his desire for her ability . . . something about the gleam in her eyes, a hesitant trust he didn't deserve, a confidence that defied danger. So instead of reacting to her ability (which would have resulted in a dead girl with her pretty little head sliced off), he said one of his many disorganized thoughts.

"Shadow isn't your real name." He stated it as a fact, and mentally smacked himself for saying something so obvious and not at all threatening.

"Your name isn't Sylar," Shadow countered. Her eyes darkened. "I think I'm entitled to some privacy, after all I've done. Does my name even really matter?"

"You're trying to run away from yourself," Sylar concluded, curious and, to Shadow's irritation, correct.

"You would too if you were me," she bit out. Shadow turned her back to Sylar, but not before he saw the pain in her eyes. "If I didn't mind dying, I'd tell you to just take it. Not that I have anything to live for, but I know enough to not just give up . . ." Her voice broke then, and she made a strange choking sound.

Before he knew what he was doing, Sylar had moved across the room and had his hand on her shoulder. Her skin was like fire. "Tell me," he said softly, his voice commanding and alluring.

Shadow stared at the wall, her shoulders tense, and spoke dully. "You don't know. You can't even begin to imagine how dangerous it is to be able to control something purely elemental. It reacts to you; it is not easily controlled. People are afraid, of course . . . I can bring Hell on earth without meaning to. I can trap you in darkness and you will run nowhere; feel, see, hear, smell nothing."

Sylar's fingers tightened. He was nearly salivating with metaphysical hunger, his lust for her ability consuming him – but he forced it back. He did not want to be a monster; it would be even harder to kill her now because he could relate. He knew what fear and hate felt like . . . and a sudden urge seized him. It was unfamiliar, a lust and hunger separate from her ability.

"I can fix you," he whispered. Shadow jumped. His breath was hot in her ear.

"I know how you 'fix' people, Sylar," she snapped. "Not interested. Besides," her voice grew harsher, "I'm not broken."

"Yes, Shadow, you are," Sylar disagreed. He slid his arm around her, resting his hand just above the swell of her breast where he could feel her heart beating frantically. "Here."

Shadow was finding it harder and harder to focus. Sylar's palm burned where it pressed against her bare flesh; she could feel her blood pounding through her veins, rushing under her skin. The darkness that hung in the air swirled around them like a mist, seemingly unsure of how to respond to Shadow's foreign emotions.

Sylar brushed his lips against her neck, making Shadow shiver. _What am I doing?_ He shouldn't be wasting his time like this . . . but she was a dangerous temptation, melting into a pool of sensations at the touch of his hands.

"Sylar," Shadow whispered, her voice hoarse.

He turned her back towards him, slowly. His gut wrenched when he saw the hot, salty tears running down her face. Sylar stroked her face gently, wiping away evidence of her pain.

Shadow looked up at Sylar; their gazes collided and the world slowed and stopped, if only for a moment. They stared at each other for one long, impossible second before their lips met and the world exploded.


	3. Something to Live For

Sylar was a skilled lover, although Shadow was certain that he'd never touched another being like this before in his life. His mouth was hot and urgent, coaxing her lips apart; his hands were everywhere, caressing her skin, his fingers nimbly tracing the contours of her body. Shadow felt her head spinning and the blood rushing through her veins, felt her heart pounding fast and frantic against her ribcage. She knew, in some distant corner of her mind, that her desire raged for a killer, a feared man, but it seemed irrelevant in this moment. She also knew that she was not alone: Sylar's own passion was clear in the press of his lips, the movement of his hands, the way he held her close to his body. They were two desperate souls, seeking solace in each other.

Sylar wrapped his strong arms around Shadow, sweeping her into his embrace. He walked them both back to the bed, never breaking the kiss, somehow shy but confident in his movements. Sylar half threw and half lay her down on the rumpled sheets, watching Shadow's face as he did so. Her eyes were wide and wild, her face flushed pink, a definite smirk on her lips.

Sylar reached up with trembling hands and began unbuttoning his shirt, watching Shadow with blazing eyes. She stared back hungrily, quivering, laying silent. Off went the shirt. Off went the ribbed tank underneath. Her eyes glittered darkly as he slowly revealed himself to her. He was muscled and tan, in a subtle way that made him all the more enticing. His fingers went for the fastenings of his jeans, eyes locked on hers. Gazing up from the bed, Shadow knew that she would never again see him as anything but beautiful.

******

Hours later, they lay together, limbs intertwined, finally floating down from their idyllic state of passion. Sylar stroked Shadow's hair absentmindedly, watching her fingers trace random patterns over his sweat-slicked chest.

"Well. That was fun."

Sylar raised his eyebrows. "Fun?" he repeated. "That's a very broad statement." He twisted his fingers in Shadow's dark, raven strands and gently tugged her hair back, meeting her eyes when her face turned to his. "I think you can do better than that," Sylar whispered, low and velvet.

Shadow grinned, raising her head to kiss him. "Stimulating." Kiss. "Amazing." Kiss. "Wow." Kiss. She drew back to gaze into his eyes, which had begun to gleam again. "How's that?" Shadow smirked. "Am I stroking your ego enough?" Her eyes were all too innocent as she ran her fingers through his hair.

His eyes narrowed. "Funny," he remarked dryly. He shifted so Shadow could better fit into the curve of his body. She cuddled closer, sending an unfamiliar thrill through his abdomen. "So, Shadow. What was someone like you doing out in the heart of New York City last night?"

"Running," was the blunt, soft reply. He felt her head nudge his shoulder. "But you know all about that."

Sylar regarded her in silence. She seemed young, but Shadow was far beyond her years. So much power with little of the control . . . when he had had to wait so long . . . it didn't seem fair. He suddenly wondered what it felt like, that power, completely possessed by him and him alone —

Abruptly, he couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Couldn't feel. He could barely _breathe_, it was an unimaginable hell and he was powerless and alone alone alone . . .

The onslaught of sensory deprivation disappeared as quickly as it had come. Sylar blinked and shot upright. Shadow no longer curled around him; she was sitting at the foot of the bed, naked form the waist up, gesturing toward the wisps of darkness that were slowly retreating to the outskirts of the room.

Shadow stared at Sylar, her eyes angry but her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to make that happen." Her tone grew a little sharper, edged with iciness. "Then again, what did I tell you? You can't even think about killing me!" She was scared and angry – because he had wanted to kill her, or because she had almost killed him?

"It's my nature," Sylar snapped. "I'm a monster. A killer." His eyes leveled with hers. "I can't stop it."

Shadow sighed. "I want to say that I don't believe you, but that would make me a hypocrite, huh?" She crawled back up next to him, flopping down, burying her head in the pillows. "The darkness, the shadows . . . they reacted to your thoughts. Your demeanor. They were protecting me form you," came the muffled explanation. "They react to my emotions and the emotions of those around me. I can't control that."

Sylar rubbed the smooth expanse of her back awkwardly. He wasn't used to offering comfort. "It must be hard . . . having an ability without being able to control it."

Shadow twisted her head, looking up at him through a curtain of her hair. Her eyes burned with indignation. "I never said I couldn't control it," she growled. "Just not that aspect of it." She rolled her eyes. "If it keeps me from getting murdered in my sleep, then who am I to argue?"

Sylar contemplated that. The more he learned about her power, the more his intrigue grew. "So . . ." he hesitated. Shadow raised her head and waited patiently. "What _can _you control?" he asked.

Shadow regarded him, her expression thoughtful. "Just out of curiosity, right?" she said witheringly, but continued without his answer. "I can . . . create, I suppose. I manipulate the elemental darkness to create something solid. Something real." Her gaze had gone more introspective, now, so she jumped when Sylar spoke.

"Like what?"

"Anything," she replied. She smirked then, a cocky grin that almost made Sylar smile. "But that's not the best part." Shadow sat upright, tugging the sheets around her torso, and held out her hand. "Check this out."

She curled her fingers into a fist and immediately snapped her hand open, palm up. Writhing in her open hand was a sphere that looked like fire, but it was made of blacks and grays that twisted and melted into each other. Sylar stared with wide eyes. Shadow grinned broadly.

"Shadowball," she announced triumphantly.

Sylar peered at the orb of shadows closely, his eyes alight with curiosity. "How . . . What . . . ?"

"I don't really know," Shadow answered, casually juggling the shadowball from one hand to the other. She shrugged. "I can take the existing dark elements and manipulate them into anything I want – furniture, even clothes. It's all solid, all real until I will it otherwise. But this," she tossed the swirling mass of shadows in the air and caught it between her cupped hands, "this I can create from nothing." She separated her palms, splitting the one shadowball into two. "How great is that?" she grinned.

Sylar didn't reply. He figured her question was more rhetorical anyway. The two shadowballs danced in her hands, radiating their own energy, only contained by Shadow's sense of control. The burning lust for her ability was back, deep within himself, but he forced the urge back. With difficulty. He mentally shook himself, raising his gaze from Shadow's hands to her face. She was looking back at him, her eyes warm and concerned.

"Are you okay?" she asked anxiously. The shadow spheres vanished from her hands, leaving only smoke-like wisps. "I'm so sorry, Sylar," she rushed, reaching up to touch his face. "I wasn't thinking. I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you." She kissed him gently. "Sylar?"

"Gabriel," he heard himself say.

Shadow stared at him, her eyes shining brightly. "What?" she whispered.

"Gabriel," he repeated. "My name is Gabriel." He smiled shyly.

Shadow hugged him, her arms in a tight embrace around his neck. "Gabriel," she whispered, feeling his name rolling off her tongue. She tasted salt in her mouth and realized she was crying – but they were happy tears, and she told him so.

She fell asleep shortly thereafter, exhausted from their passionate lovemaking and the exhibition of her abilities. Sylar watched her sleep, stroking her hair gently, lost in thought.

Maybe he didn't have to be a killer. Maybe he could be happy without hungering for the blood, for the abilities of the ungrateful.

_Maybe . . . maybe if I had something to live for._


	4. Push Me and I Break

Several rapid-succession raps on the door startled Sylar into burning his hand on the stove where he was preparing breakfast for two a few mornings after Shadow took him in. His breath escaped in a hiss, reacting to the pain even as new, healthy skin replaced the charred. He waved the smell of burnt flesh from the air and stalked to the front door. The pounding grew louder and more insistent.

Sylar muttered under his breath and telekinetically wrenched the door open and practically off its hinges. On the threshold with his arm still suspended in midair stood a man; he looked a few years older than Shadow and showed a remarkable resemblance to the special girl who lived there. His hair was the same midnight black, same texture, with similar facial structure . . . all but the eyes. While Shadow's eyes were warm and chocolate brown, this stranger's eyes were piercing summer green. He and Sylar stared at each other, sizing one another up.

The must-be-related-to-Shadow man finally broke the heavy silence. "Didn't know Shadow was taking in strays," he smirked. His tone was sharp, his speech refined and obviously well-educated. He seemed uncomfortable standing idle on the doorstep, painfully conspicuous in his designer-label attire. He shifted awkwardly. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" he demanded, voice taunting.

"What if I don't?" Sylar growled. He didn't like this man, who was too arrogant and acted too superior and said Shadow's name as if it were a disease. But he wasn't special. He had no abilities. It provoked grim satisfaction in Sylar.

The man glared at Sylar. "Guess I'll just have to invite myself in, then," he spat, making to step across the threshold.

Sylar raised his hand threateningly, already focused on the man's throat. "Try it," he challenged, eyes burning. He flexed his fingers experimentally.

"Oh, knock it off, the both of you," Shadow snapped from the bathroom doorway. "Thomas, there's no one here you need to impress. Get in here and stop acting like you're better than the rest of us."

Sylar dropped his arm, somewhat reluctantly, and turned toward Shadow, stopping short when he took her in. Her hair hung straight and damp at her collarbone, somehow even darker than before; she flipped it over her shoulder with a cocky jerk of the head. Her outfit interested him most. Her jeans were black – not a faded black, not even denim black, but _black_. Shadow's one-shouldered tank was a mosaic of charcoal, ash gray, and a metallic stretch of midnight sky. Sylar stared with appraising eyes and realized that she had clothed herself with immaterial darkness and shadows. She wore nothing but illusion. His lips turned up in a smirk as he raked his gaze over her body.

The man who had entered the apartment – Thomas? – seemed to realize the facts as soon as Sylar did. He winced in reaction and averted his eyes to the floor. "Dammit, Fae, don't you have the decency to put some real clothes on?" he muttered exasperatedly.

Shadow locked eyes with Sylar and grinned at the devilish expression on his face before turning to Thomas. "Since you obviously haven't listened to my previous three thousand lectures," she rolled her eyes, "they _are_ real clothes that you can touch and feel if you are so inclined." She playfully flicked her hair in his direction, spraying droplets of water on his expensive-looking jacket. "If I hadn't been in the shower or had been given an advance warning, I might have been obliged to dress less haphazardly."

Thomas wrinkled his brow. "Second Friday of the month, sis. I'm always here."

Shadow sighed. "Days have lost their hold on me, Thomas. It's all a blur to me."

"Sure," Thomas said, the faintest hint of a sneer entering his voice. His eyes flashed to Sylar. "I can see how certain . . . _distractions_ could interfere with your sense of time." His lip curled unpleasantly as his steely gaze pierced Sylar.

"Oh, right," Shadow gestured between the two men. "Thomas, this is Gabriel—"

"Sylar," he interrupted. His voice was low and dangerous. He met Shadow's puzzled gaze and nodded curtly. "It's Sylar."

Shadow shrugged, although she looked a bit worried. "Sylar," she repeated. "And Sylar, this is my big brother Thomas. _Be nice_," she warned under her breath, knowing full well that Sylar would hear her.

Thomas glared as Sylar with narrowed eyes. "_The_ Sylar?" he hissed. "The serial killer who takes the abilities of people like you?"

Shadow walked over to Sylar and wrapped an arm around his waist. "It doesn't matter, Thomas," she said quietly. "I trust him."

Sylar felt a swoop of pleasure around his navel and flung his arm around her shoulders. "He called you Fae," he declared, distrustful gaze never leaving Thomas's face.

Shadow rolled her eyes conspicuously. "It's a nickname for Faith. My real name, which I _dropped_," she explained, shooting a venomous glare at her brother. "He never really picked up on 'Shadow' but I refuse to answer to 'Faith' so we compromised. Fae."

Sylar tugged his eyes from the brother and looked down at Shadow. "Fae," he whispered. She raised her head to meet his eyes. He smiled and kissed her. "I like it," he said softly.

"Spare me," groaned Thomas from the entryway. "Look, Fae, can we get this over with already?"

Shadow jerked her head toward the kitchen. "Over breakfast. When was the last time you even ate a decent meal, anyway?" She grabbed Sylar's hand and pulled him toward the smell of eggs and bacon.

"Sooner than you did," Thomas replied sullenly, following behind. "I just came to go over the arrangements for this month and them I'm out of here."

"Just like always. Things to do, places to go, people to see, blah blah blah," Shadow sighed. "I've heard it before, Tom."

"That's not fair, Fae."

Shadow shrugged. "Whatever. Tell me I'm set for the month and go off to your upscale meeting in L.A. or New York or wherever the hell you're off to."

"Well, yes, you are good for the month, but that isn't the only reason I've come," Thomas hedged. His voice wavered and the sound of his footsteps stuttered.

Shadow frowned, her eyes going dark. "Don't go there, Thomas."

"Come on, sis. Maybe this year we could—" he broke off abruptly, staring at Sylar. "Could we discuss this in private, Fae?"

"He stays," Shadow retorted through clenched teeth. "And I'm serious, Thomas, don't."

"Maybe if you just talked about it . . ."

She whirled on him suddenly, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Do you think I want to talk about it?" she shouted angrily. Sylar folded his arms over his chest, very much aware of the way the shadows swirled in the air, their jerky movements seemingly agitated. Did this Thomas guy even know what he was messing with? Sylar glanced at his face; seeing the fear there, he decided that Thomas knew it exactly.

"Calm down, Fae," Thomas whispered, his eyes wide and apprehensive. "Don't do this. You know that I'm only trying to help you . . ."

"Yeah, I know how well that works out," Shadow hissed. A shadowball suddenly appeared in the palm of her hand and the darkness pressed in around them. "Get out."

Sylar took a step closer and gazed at Thomas over her shoulder. "I'd do it if I were you," he offered quietly, not threateningly, but the other man flinched as though Sylar had struck him.

Ignoring Sylar, Thomas made a last-ditch attempt at soothing his sister. "Don't do this, Fae—"

"I haven't done anything," she snapped. She raised the orb of shadows to shoulder level ominously, feeling a stab of cruel pleasure at the terrified expression on her brother's face. "Yet."

He got a little bit angry then, bubbling up alongside his fear. Thomas finally used his ace card, although he knew it was vindictive and would cut her deep. He only hoped to shock her enough into stopping whatever insanity had taken hold of her.

"Remember what you did last time this happened."

Shadow screamed. It was a strangled cry, grieved and furious, and it sent chills up Sylar's spine. He had heard the screams of his victims before, in fact he almost relished their pain, but this was something completely different. It made his hair stand on end, disturbingly so.

He realized what was going to happen a split second before it did; he only just flung Thomas out of the way with telekinesis before Shadow hurled the energized shadowball in his direction. She didn't even stop to see if he was hit; she ran for the door and burst out. Sylar heard her footsteps as they disappeared outside and down the street.

Thomas sat up, dazed, and shook his head. Sylar stared down at him with contempt. "Thanks," Thomas panted. He looked over his shoulder at the open door. "I can't believe she actually did that."

"Shut up," Sylar growled, storming past. "When I get back with her, you'd better be gone or I won't bother next time."

He hurried out the door, pausing only briefly to glance at the wall where the shadowball had collided. He ran out to the street, calling Shadow's name, memory burning with the full extent of her ability.

In a perfectly circular shape, the wall had dissolved. No crumbled plaster. No jagged edges. It was just . . . just . . .

Gone.


	5. Searching the Darkness

Sylar wandered the backstreets and alleys of New York City for hours searching for Shadow. He didn't bother calling her name after a while; if she didn't want to be found then she wouldn't answer him anyway.

The skies opened up midmorning and released a downpour that continued on throughout the day. While only mildly annoying, Sylar worried that Shadow could hide better on a dark, cloudy day than a sunny one. He figured that she could simply melt into the shadows – literally – and he'd never find her. Sylar found himself slightly disconcerted at the fact that he had begun to care about this girl. It was unfamiliar and he wasn't yet sure how to handle those feelings.

Meandering the city allowed Sylar the time to reflect on Shadow's ability and her past. She obviously felt comfortable with her powers, and used it to her advantage frequently, but whatever her brother had wanted to talk about visibly shook Shadow. He wasn't fooled by the front she put up back in the apartment. He had heard her scream; he had (though he'd never tell her so) seen the shine in her eyes and the tears that fell as she fled.

He felt a pang of – what was that? Sympathy? Empathy? Sylar had promised to fix her, in her heart, where this unknown pain affected her most, but he now realized that a few nights in her bed weren't going to help. Much. Temporarily, perhaps, but she needed to be healed deep down.

He didn't know if he could do that for her.

When Sylar finally found Shadow it was almost by accident. Still lost in thought and retracing the same path for the third time, he would have walked right past her if not for the abnormal concentration of darkness that hung in the air. Sylar paused, keen eyes darting about, searching the shadows. He frowned. If she didn't want to be found . . .

"Shadow?" he called softly. "Shadow, it's Gabriel . . ."

The darkness swirled around him, and he could have sworn that the shadows recognized his voice, but the blackness parted like a curtain and those disturbing thoughts were chased from his mind.

Shadow had apparently run herself right up against the brick wall and slid down when her legs could hold her no longer. Sylar could see the deep gouges and the blood where the bricks had dug into the flesh of her back. She was leaning forward on her knees, head buried in her arms. She was naked; apparently her concentration could not hold in her distress and the shadow-clothes had simply melted away. It was hard to tell how long she had been there, but she was soaked from rain and shivering violently. Sylar felt his heart squeeze.

He cautiously stepped closer to her shaking form. "Shadow," he said again.

It took an eternal second for Shadow to lift her head. When she finally raised her face to him, Sylar almost stepped back in shock. She looked like death personified. Her eyes, usually so warm and beautiful, were raw red and rimmed with gray; she had been sobbing uncontrollably for many hours and it showed. Her pale skin showed every bright crimson gash that blemished her body. Shadow stared up at Sylar with wide, dull eyes; he wasn't entirely sure that she really saw him at all.

Wordlessly, Sylar shrugged out of his jacket and knelt beside her. He wrapped the jacket around her as if she were the most fragile being in the world and lifted her into his arms. She struggled a bit, but they were half-hearted thrashes without much energy. She gave up quickly. He hugger her closer and kissed her forehead, stroking her hair away from her face.

She clung to him all the way back to the apartment, whimpering into his shoulder at random intervals. The rain fell around them, enveloping them in a silent world where only the raindrops on the pavement could be heard. Sylar couldn't fathom how she had managed to run halfway across the city, even under the influence of adrenaline. A dry sob from Shadow brought his attention back to her in his arms. His ebony eyes darkened even more as he gazed into her face. He couldn't afford to be frustrated, but he wanted to help her so badly and he didn't know how.

He briefly wondered if this sudden cascade of humanity would be permanent.

Back in Shadow's apartment, Sylar was satisfied to see that Thomas had heeded his advice and left without leaving a trace of his visit. Well – almost. Sylar deliberately ignored the wall that had been "damaged" by Shadow's brief stint of rage; he didn't want to risk drawing her attention back to it and send her over the edge again. She didn't need that.

Sylar brought Shadow into the bathroom. Carefully shifting her more securely in his arms, he telekinetically twisted the shower knob far into the red; steam filled the small room quickly. Sylar stepped into the shower, fully clothed, and lowered them both to the floor. He peeled his jacket away from her skin so she could better absorb the warmth of the hot spray and held her in his lap.

Sylar was quickly soaked to the skin but he hardly noticed. Shadow's head rested on his shoulder heavily, but her eyes were beginning to lose their dullness. Sylar caressed her bare skin tenderly, watching for when the awareness returned.

"Shadow?" he tried again. "It's Gabriel."

Shadow blinked and hugged him tighter, but didn't speak.

When the water ran cold Sylar wrapped Shadow in a towel and brought her into the living room. He dried her as she sat motionless, seeming not to know nor care where she was. Sylar worried that her mind had fractured. He wished he could see inside her head . . . see what had broken . . . but he rejected the idea malevolently. He refused to do that to her.

He laid her down on the bed and pulled up the covers, tucking them around her neck. Shadow fell asleep almost immediately as Sylar watched, which gave him a sense of relief. Maybe she would be more responsive after some rest. He kissed her forehead chastely, whispering empty words in her ear.

He was never far during the time she slept. After he had changed into dry clothes, he mostly watched over Shadow. The only sound throughout the apartment was Shadow's shallow breathing; he would sometimes glance over at her and smile without clearly knowing why. It abruptly sent his thoughts inward.

Sylar had little experience with these types of feelings. The closest thing to this was Elle, a long time ago, and she had ended up betraying him. But even that was nothing to what he felt now. He was . . . protective of Shadow. Obviously. Why else would he have trolled New York all day, searching for her? Someone he barely knew and had just met?

Sylar went to the side of the bed and gazed down at Shadow, trying to view her objectively. As if he didn't care about her. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but she did have a desirable look. Her hair was soft and shimmered in the light, an ebony gloss that caught the eye; her lips, full and pink, all too inviting. Her eyes, he knew, were deep caverns of warmth, the color of melted milk chocolate. It was enough to catch male attention, but it wasn't the physical that Sylar couldn't get out of his head.

Shadow had an attitude all her own – she carried herself with confidence and certainty that bordered on cockiness. But she was able to do it without really showing off. That confidence had thrown him off at first, but now he recognized that it was simply a part of who she is. That was the intriguing thing – and a bit of a turn-on, too. He felt a surge of anger at Thomas for coming here and making her upset.

Again, he wondered why he cared so much . . .

"Sylar?" The weak whisper pierced the silent air.

His gaze flew to her face. Shadow's eyes were open, if a little bleary, and she was staring right at him. He couldn't stop the broad grin that spread across his face or the relief that flooded his body. He dropped to his knees and covered her hand with his own.

"Yeah, Shadow," Sylar said softly. "I'm here."

She took his hand and moved it near her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. "Don't leave me, okay?" She closed her eyes wearily. "Please don't leave me."

Sylar, throat closed and heart racing, could only nod.


	6. Bleed My Soul

"Don't you want to know?"

Sylar glanced up to find Shadow staring at him with glittering eyes. He took a moment to sink into their chocolate depths before returning his attention to plastering the eerily perfect circle in the wall. "Don't I want to know what?" he asked. "If you knew the precise destructive power of your ability – and I'm guessing yes – or why you nearly went mad and almost killed your brother?" He shot a discrete look over his shoulder, carefully monitoring her reaction.

Shadow winced, drawing a deep breath. "That one," she replied softly. She rubbed her bare arms as though cold, but Sylar knew that wasn't the case. "I mean, aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Of course I am," Sylar answered honestly. "But it's your past. Your life." His voice dropped huskily. "If you can accept me with my flaws, my mistakes, then I suppose I can extend the same courtesy to you." He paused. She barely heard him whisper, "You've been so great and understanding, Shadow."

She stayed silent for a few seconds. She wanted to share this with him, but ripping open that wound seemed to be less than helpful whenever she brought it up. Still . . . Shadow felt things with Sylar that she never had before. Maybe because she had never allowed anyone else to get this close to her. She wasn't sure he felt the same way – probably not – but she would make the effort nonetheless.

"But . . . I want you to know." Shadow said it forcefully, like she was trying to convince herself, but he heard the uncertainty in the waver of her voice.

Sylar pivoted on his knees to look at her; Shadow stared into her lap, her hands twisting nervously. In an instant he was at her side. Hand in hand, he guided her to the couch; they sat and Shadow curled up against his side. She was warm and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

"Okay, Shadow. If that's what you want."

Shadow drew a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "Yes," she breathed. She closed her eyes and began to speak, doing her best to detach herself from the story. "My ability manifested two years ago." She felt Sylar's hand spasm around hers in surprise, but ignored it and continued. "I was sixteen, still living with my parents. Still in high school – a junior at the time. Still living a normal existence." Her voice changed, somehow harsher yet more broken. "That changed soon enough."

Shadow's voice rang hollow as she reached the important part of her tale. "It happened near the end of junior year. Just before Prom. Best night of your life," she muttered sarcastically. "My boyfriend – my ex-boyfriend – was a senior then, and he was taking me. My mother knew that he had a bit of a reputation." Shadow glanced up at Sylar, eyes darkening. "Sexually," she clarified.

Sylar nodded. He thought he knew where this was going, but he didn't stop her. This was good for her, this – this confession, though that seemed to be too strong a word. He hoped that it was good for her, anyway.

Shadow squeezed her eyes shut. "She didn't trust me . . . or rather, didn't trust him. I still haven't figured out which one it was, after all this time . . . anyway, Prom night came and she dropped the bombshell. I needed to be home by 11:30 – the dance ended at eleven. It ensured I wouldn't do anything stupid, while also taking away my freedom and my liberty. I fought back, of course. I was sixteen and thought I could take on the world. So stupid," she muttered angrily. Sylar held her hand tightly.

"We argued. Thomas was at college and my father was at work; it was just the two of us in the house. She yelled, I screamed. I got angry . . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and Sylar could hear the pain in her voice still. "I don't even know how it happened. I was yelling and then she was screaming, terrified screams that rang in my ears. The darkness had completely covered her in a layer that – well, you've been there."

"Sensory deprivation," Sylar said. Shadow glanced at him apologetically.

"Reacting to my emotions," Shadow nodded. "Yeah. I didn't know how to control it back then. I was just a kid, y'know? It wasn't thick enough to stop her from screaming, and it didn't constrict her enough yet that she couldn't breathe. But I couldn't get it away, couldn't stop it. So I panicked. Bolted. When I got to Prom I told my date everything, hoping he would help me, _anything_, but he freaked out too. Ran out on me. Left me alone. On _Prom_," she groaned.

Sylar interjected quickly. "Did you love him? Before that?"

Shadow hesitated. Love was a touchy issue. "I thought I did," she finally replied, quietly.

They sat in silence for a while, staring into nothing. Sylar wondered where she had gotten that confidence she carried, that sureness of her abilities – in the beginning she hadn't even known what was happening. He had embraced his power, but hers had brought such awful consequences that she had run. She didn't seem the flight type when confronted with conflict – more the fight.

Shadow jarred him out of his musings, speaking as though he hadn't interrupted. "Thomas told me later that they found her in the kitchen, suffocated. Smothered by darkness – although they didn't know that." She paused, giving Sylar the opportunity to hug her tightly. "And it was my entire fault." Shadow's voice broke. It ripped through Sylar like a bullet.

"No," he said gently. "It was an accident. You didn't know."

She replied with silent tears. He kissed her and held her close, drying her cheeks.

"You've been forced to grow up too quickly," Sylar stated.

Shadow shrugged. "It's better this way. I was just a stupid teenager. Arrogant." Pause. "I'm not anymore."

Sylar hesitated for a brief second before blurting out one of his many stray thoughts. "So, if it wasn't this Prom guy . . . was I . . . you know . . ."

"My first, yes." Shadow sounded indifferent, but he detected the anxiety in her tone. She shot him a glance. "Does that bother you?"

"No," he answered immediately, surprised that it was the truth. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, going silent.

They sat like that for a while, cuddled up (although Sylar would shudder to think of it as _cuddling_), the air heavy between them. The shadows swirled about, sometimes flowing close to the skin and causing Sylar to shiver. Shadow didn't seem to notice, lost in her brooding.

Quite some time later, Sylar's voice cut the still air, jerking Shadow out of her hypnotic state.

"I killed my mother too."

Shadow's scarlet-rimmed eyes flicked up to Sylar's face. His expression was sober, his eyes dark and serious. He wasn't lying. Although it didn't entirely surprise her, she still felt a bit shocked that it was a fact they had in common. Shadow ran a hand through her hair distractedly – so many secrets between them.

"On purpose?" she asked softly, with only a faint hint of hesitation in her voice. His face hardened as he glared. "Sylar, you do have that history," Shadow soothed, trying hard not to sound defensive.

He relaxed, the tension draining from his shoulders. Sylar paused, turning her question in his mind before answering. "I don't know," he said quietly. Hesitantly, he explained, "I've thought it was an accident, but I didn't feel any real regret over the action."

_Because you have psychopathic tendencies_, the thought came unbidden by Shadow, glad he had yet to steal the ability to read minds.

"She wasn't very supportive of my abilities," Sylar continued. "She was afraid. But she wanted me to be better. I couldn't . . ." he faltered.

"You couldn't live up to her expectations," Shadow finished. Sylar nodded, deftly avoiding her sympathetic gaze. "I'm sorry," she said gently.

"I don't deserve to be here," he muttered angrily, pushing himself off the couch, pacing like a caged animal. "I don't deserve your sympathy." His hunger was surfacing quickly along with his guilt, and he fought for control of his impulses.

Shadow felt terribly empty and alone, slumping against the sofa cushions. She watched Sylar stalk back and forth, aware that the shadows were drifting closer and forming a faint barrier between them. She stayed quiet, merely following his agitated form with her eyes. _He's working on it_, she told herself.

When his strides finally slowed, Shadow stood and grabbed his hand, waving the shadow-barrier away with the other one. She stopped him abruptly, forcing him to face her. Sylar averted his obsidian eyes to the floor. Shadow hugged him tightly, not caring if he returned the gesture or not.

"What you deserve," Shadow said confidently, "is a second chance."

Sylar didn't respond for a few pulse-pounding heartbeats, then abruptly wrapped her in a fierce embrace. Shadow sighed happily, pressing her cheek to his chest. He repeatedly kissed the top of her head, his breath hot on her scalp, coaxing shivers from Shadow.

His way of thanking her for his newfound hop was to deliver waves of pleasure throughout her being, testing the limits of her capacity, slowly obliterating her mind every time ecstasy shocked her system. He highly enjoyed watching her writhe at his touch, seeing her eyes rolled back in her head, hearing his name on her lips. She trusted him so completely. He didn't deserve that trust . . . he didn't deserve her.

But later, as Shadow drifted off into unconsciousness in his arms, Sylar thought about what she had told him.

"A second chance," he whispered to the dark.


	7. How am I supposed to Understand?

Shadow woke the next morning comfortably wrapped in sheets and blankets, but as soon as she rolled to the opposite side of the bed she knew something was different. The smooth, velvet skin that usually met her touch was conspicuously absent; the space felt cold, as though he hadn't even slept there.

_He probably went for breakfast. He needed space, needed to get out of the house for a while._ These were the lies Shadow told herself throughout the morning, rationalizing Sylar's – Gabriel's – abrupt absence.

The apartment rang with silence and emptiness, unfamiliar since his arrival. She busied herself, carrying out pointless activities which served to merely distract her mind until finished – at which point her mind refocused on a certain pair of obsidian eyes that refused to leave her consciousness. She resented the pang of betrayal that sliced through her.

_I should have expected this_, she thought, angry at Sylar and angry at herself. _How could I have possibly expected him to change?_

But something felt off – Sylar had left his possessions with her, like he would eventually return to her. Like hell, she thought darkly. The pulses of fury almost blinded her at times and he had to force herself to breathe deeply or risk flinging shadowballs at random objects throughout the apartment.

She attempted a calming rest midafternoon, to no avail; she only succeeded in contemplating the many ways she would destroy him if he dared to show his face to her again. Agitation coursed through her limbs. The shadows swirled about in a similar fashion, flowing across the apartment in jerky movements.

The sun was painting the city blood red when Shadow finally jolted upright. She couldn't hear the door open, but she felt his presence permeating the darkness of the apartment. Her cold eyes fixed on the dim silhouette as it gently latched the door. He started for the bathroom door, hardly making a sound.

Shadow flicked the overhead light on, watching him freeze with grim satisfaction. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the headboard, eyes darker than the shadowballs she created.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, voice low and dangerous.

Sylar twitched, keeping his back to her. "I thought I lived here," he answered quietly. She could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Up and leaving in the night might just be a base line for getting kicked out, Sylar," Shadow said coldly. The steel in her voice well masked the hurt brimming beneath the surface.

"Shadow, you don't understand," he pleaded.

"You're right. I don't understand. I don't understand how I thought I could trust you. I don't understand why you left me in the middle of the night, or why I wasted my energy on you, or why the hell I even _care_!" Her voice had risen to a shout and the anger filled her words.

Sylar half-turned his face toward her. "Shadow, I –"

"Don't!" she cut him off. "Don't even! I want to know where you've been and why you left and I want you to **look at me**!" Shadow screamed.

Sylar hesitated, sighing heavily as he turned toward the light. Shadow gasped when she finally saw him properly. His arms were stained red up to the elbows, caked with dry blood, and his shirt was soaked through with crimson. Sylar avoided her eyes, boring a hole in the hardwood floor.

Shadow's eyes were dark but sad. "Sylar," she whispered hoarsely. "What did you do?"

"I didn't want to," he protested brokenly, shaking his head. "I swear, Shadow, I tried. But I had to do it. For you."

"For _me_?" she exploded. Shadow flew out of bed and was in his face faster than he thought possible, although she kept her distance from the blood. "For _me_, Sylar? You killed for me?"

"I killed him because I don't want you kill you!" Sylar burst. He raised his head, ebony eyes overflowing with pain. His mouth twisted into a grimace.

Shadow took a small step back, eyes narrowing slightly. "Explain."

Sylar held his hands out, beseeching her. "I didn't want to do this, Shadow, please believe me. But you don't know what it's like . . ." His eyes closed, as if he couldn't bear to look at her. "This hunger I have – it's all-consuming, burning. I can't control it. You can't possibly understand what it's like to be next to you day after day and lay next to you night after night and have this terrible desire to kill you, take your powers, and leave . . . but I don't want to, Shadow. I think it would hurt me too much to see you dead," he confessed. He looked at her then, and the raw honesty in his eyes took Shadow aback. His words almost had an edge of_ remorse_.

Sylar continued, "Last night, watching you sleep, your powers taunting me – I couldn't stand it. I had to get out. And I did, but the hunger stayed, because I knew that you were still in your apartment, just begging me to kill you."

"And so you killed someone else?"

He looked at Shadow, expression pleading. "It slakes my hunger for a while. Please try to understand, Shadow, please . . ."

She stared back stonily, although a hint of sympathy had returned to her gaze. "Who was it?"

Sylar shrugged. "A guy. Older. Just another hidden special."

"Show me."

He sighed and glanced at his crimson skin. "Can I wash this off first?"

"No."

Sylar avoided her stare and turned to the nearest wall, stretching his arms out in front of him. He placed his hands on the wall and started to climb. Shadow couldn't keep her jaw from dropping. Sylar just climbed, up the vertical wall, and she watched with wide eyes as he moved upside-down across the ceiling to the opposite side of the apartment. He jumped down from the wall and walked across to Shadow, still not meeting her eyes.

"I haven't tested it out very thoroughly yet, but I can climb up and down vertically, and, y'know . . ." he gestured up, "upside-down."

Shadow collapsed onto the couch, pulling up her legs to her chest. She stared at him with blank eyes. She fought to control her voice when she spoke. "Please wash off that . . . that, and then tell me everything."

He nodded and hurried to the bathroom, anxious to escape her gaze. She was upset – he knew that much – but the accusation had disappeared from her voice.

As the water ran red, then pink, and finally clear, he thought back to that morning. Telling her everything? That would mean he'd have to start from just after they went to bed last night . . .

_The previous evening _

Sylar gazed at Shadow's face as she slept, a smile curving his lips. Such a beautiful girl, with such a kind demeanor, and with so much power . . .

That's when it had started. The sweating. The ticking. The ringing in his ears. He continued to stare at her face, but the hunger, the desire, was sweeping through his system. He wanted to manipulate the darkness and the shadows. It would be easy. Just one smooth line across that perfect forehead –

_**I have to get out of here.**_


	8. Itsy Bitsy Spider

Sylar gazed at Shadow's face as she slept, a smile curving his lips. Such a beautiful girl, with such a kind demeanor, and with so much power . . .

That's when it had started. The sweating. The ticking. The ringing in his ears. He continued to stare at her face, but the hunger, the desire, was sweeping through his system. He wanted to manipulate the darkness and the shadows. It would be easy. Just one smooth line across that perfect forehead –

_**I have to get out of here.**_

Sylar scrambled out of bed hastily, careful not to wake Shadow, and reached blindly into the darkness. His movements were erratic and frantic as he pulled on the first pair of jeans that met his fingers; his hands shook, tugging a black t-shirt into place.

That incessant _ticking_. Sylar licked his lips and tasted the bitter salt of his sweat. Casting a last glance at the sleeping girl's face, he bolted from the apartment.

The night closed in once he escaped the lure of Shadow's powers. What the hell time was it? One, two AM? This wasn't New York for nothing, though. Sylar briskly walked the streets, hands balled into fists in his pockets, ignoring the traffic, the lights, the random pedestrians that meandered down the sidewalk.

Still, the hunger raged throughout his body, making his limbs rigid as he suppressed the urge to murder everyone in his line of sight. And he could do it, easily. But he forced himself to remember that those he encountered were not special, only humans whose deaths meant nothing but mindless slaughter.

That desire increased, gnawing at his mine. _Why are you running?_ taunted the dark lust. _She should be nothing to you. You could turn around, walk up to her apartment, slice open her pretty little head and get what you want with no being the wiser . . ._

The humane portion of him, the part that existed for Shadow and for Shadow alone, protested quite strongly to this. She cares, Sylar reminded himself. She says that I deserve a second chance. I can't just give that up.

Sylar fought with himself for quite some time; at times his hands clenched so tightly that he drew blood from his palms. The urge was that consuming, and it took all of Sylar's strong will to force that urge back. But it wasn't easy.

Images danced behind his eyes like a running film, each one more enticing than the previous. The first time he met Shadow, how she flooded the alley with utter darkness. Waking, covered by a blanket composed of the shadows themselves. Feeling suffocated, completely desensitized by her ability. Her petite, slender hands, holding a powerful shadowball conjured simply by thought. Whipping such a shadowball at her brother, missing him but dissolving a hole in the wall . . .

Ah, yes. Sylar recalled how the girl had looked, holding that deadly weapon in her palm, eyes ablaze with fury. She was most beautiful in her rage. He recognized that even through his hunger, and his lips tilted into a smirk.

The morning arrived quickly, it seemed, although it was probably the depth of his musings that made it so. Even in the pre-dawn hour, the streets rapidly filled with cars and taxis and people jostled past on the sidewalk, hurrying to find their McDonald's fix.

Sylar, in turn, retreated to the hidden alleys.

The shadows were longer here, and it seemed almost comforting after spending a week or so in Shadow's dark apartment. He didn't trust himself to stay out on the streets, either. What if he saw someone using their abilities? The desire had risen to a fierce pain by now; far away from Shadow, he could fight the lust for her magnificent ability but he needed **something**.

Sylar winced. Shadow. She'd be waking up by now and would find him gone. He knew she'd be furious. How could he explain it to her? How could he make her understand that by running away, he was trying to protect her?

_The better question is: why do you care?_

Damn that selfish voice of his. The evil nature he couldn't escape. He cared because she mattered. She wasn't just another person with an ability. She had a name and she had helped him. Hell, she had known who he was, the many things he could do, and she still brought him into her home.

It did feel unnatural. This 'caring' concept. He did best on his own. No serious attachments here. Look at what happened to Elle. To his supposed father, that bastard Arthur. To that stupid Luke kid. And so many more.

So why was Shadow different? Why did it matter if she lived or died?

One possibility did exist, but it was so preposterous that he immediately dismissed it. He wasn't capable of love. And he was perfectly all right with that. Please, he'd known Shadow for only a week! What he felt definitely didn't fall into the category of 'love.' The hunger was making him delusional. He had no hidden longing for a relationship, romantic or otherwise.

Sylar had been concealed in a dark corner while pondering this, and only the slightest movement from the upper corner of his eyes pulled him from his reverie. He turned his head to look, squinting up – the midday sun was burning overhead by now. As he looked, it happened, very unexpectedly and very fast.

An upscale woman passed by the mouth of the alley – the kind that boasted of rich origin to everyone who saw her. As she walked by, the movement that had caught Sylar's eye dropped. A figure who literally dropped from high on the building wall to the sidewalk and snatched away Rich Lady's purse with a violent jerk. She had hardly opened her mouth to scream before the figure melted back into the darkness of the alley, taking along the purse.

Only Sylar saw what happened next. The figure – actually a ragged-looking middle aged man – climbed vertically up the side of the brick wall. Sylar's eyes widened, his gaze fixed on the man as he scampered sideways across the building, deeper into the alley.

The hunger screamed to Sylar, roaring in his head. A knowing smirk on his face, Sylar followed the man into the darkness.

_Not a bad haul_, thought the thief. _One seventy, one eighty at least._

Sylar spied the Climber not too far down, crouched on a fire escape ladder, shifting through the cash in his hands. Sylar's grin widened. The other man didn't have a chance.

_You promised. You told Shadow you weren't going to do this anymore_, protested the newly discovered, anti-murder voice.

Sylar could rationalize that, though. This guy abused his ability. He stole from the innocent. Sylar was merely doing the world a favor.

_How is what he does with purses differ from what you do with _lives?

He ignored the voice of reason. He needed to get rid of this hunger if he ever wanted to go back to Shadow again. And, strangely enough, he did want that.

Sylar crept silently through the shadows, moving fluidly until he was beneath the fire escape. The smile that spread across his face then was nothing short of wicked – evil – and would have sent the bravest man running away. Wasn't there an old song that would fit this just _perfectly_ . . . ?

Softly, so that his voice echoed down the alley, Sylar began to sing.

"The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout . . ."

The thief looked up from his prize. What was that? That sound? No one could possibly be down here. And no one could see him anyway. He relaxed. Must be his paranoia –

"Down came the rain and washed the spider out . . ."

No, someone had definitely followed him. Damn it! The thief stood slowly, eyes darting down to the ground, hand reaching blindly for the wall. His fingers met rough brick and he turned, gripping the wall, cautiously traveling further down the alley.

Below, Sylar's eyes darkened in triumph.

"Out came the sun and dried up all the rain . . ." Louder now.

The thief scrambled as fast as he could over the bricks, climbing higher as he did so. If he could just reach the rooftops . . . he didn't want to know what happened when the stalker sang the last line. Almost there . . .

And then he was flying across the alley; he slammed into the opposite wall and tumbled into a freefall, the ground rushing up to meet him –

A sudden jerk halted his descent, nearly snapping his neck in the process. But when he looked up and stared into heartless ebony eyes, he wished desperately that that had been the case.

Sylar leered, his grin broad, hand extended as he held the Climber in midair.

"But the itsy bitsy spider never climbed again," he finished, his words mocking. Sylar cocked his head, studying the man.

The thief began to sweat, chewing his bottom lip. "Wh-What are you doing?"

A talker. Interesting. Sylar circled the man, his footsteps echoing around the empty air. "I'm doing the world a favor."

The man's voice trembled. "What sort of logic is that?"

"You don't deserve what you have."

"I need money for food. I need to survive," he protested.

"You want to talk about survival?" Sylar quirked an eyebrow. "How about this: survival of the fittest. Those who are best adapted for the environment survive. You are not well adapted."

"You are?"

A challenge. Most intruiging. Adrenaline kicking in, perhaps? No matter. "Yes. I am."

The thief hovered in silence.

"I will be the one who survives."

And Sylar lifted a hand and extended a finger, and screams filled the alley, accompanied by the nails-on-a-chalkboard wail of flesh ripping apart, cell by cell. The crimson came slowly at first, dripping thickly, creating a single line that was the gateway to separating the man and the ability.

* * * * *

The world was red. Red on the ground, red on the body, red on his shirt, red on his hands. Blood on his hands. Blood in the sky, as day made its way into dusk.

Sylar leaned his head back against the bricks and sighed. He sighed in relief and he sighed in frustration. Relief because the all-consuming hunger had been slaked – at least for now – and he could return to Shadow without wanting to kill her. Much. He sighed in frustration because he'd have to explain his actions and whereabouts for the day to Shadow. He glanced down; blood caked his skin up to the elbows.

_Yeah. Explain this. Good luck with that. Why go back at all? What is there for you but the girl and her power?_

Both of which he cared for, somehow. His brain tingled. He knew he had this new power; he could get back to Shadow faster this way. Quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line, right?

Making a snap decision, he whirled and threw himself at the wall. His hands molded against the rough contours of the bricks as he hung. This was nothing – he could hold on all day if he so desired.

But now wasn't the time to experiment. He needed to be with Shadow. As Sylar climbed hand over hand toward the sky, he grimaced as he imagined her reaction. He'd have to try to sneak in and wash off the evidence first. Then he'd tell her everything.

He could only hope that she would understand.

_Why do you care what she thinks?_

And for that, he had no answer.

A/N: I'd like to point out that I, obviously, do not own McDonald's. I don't think I could live with myself, poisoning people's arteries.


	9. All That I Have to Give

Shadow sat in silence long after Sylar stopped speaking, arms hugging her knees close to her chest. He was still pacing, as he had for the past several hours.

The clock on the wall illuminated numbers that went well past midnight. Neither Shadow nor Sylar had bothered to flip on the lights – Shadow because she could see just fine in the dark, and Sylar because he didn't want to see the look on her face.

The blood had cleaned up easily, water running red to pink to clear, but he still felt worthless. The power that usually came with a kill and a new ability wasn't there. He shouldn't be here, not with Shadow looking at him like she was, like he was a monster yet she understood.

Guilt had never been an issue when he killed. He felt no remorse over those who had unwillingly surrendered their abilities to him. It hit him full force now – not because of the Climber, but because of Shadow. He had disappointed her and that hurt worse than anything.

_Why do you care?_

Shadow's honey eyes followed Sylar's movements. She didn't know what to think, exactly. He had confessed why he had left, what he had been thinking, and why he had killed for her. She understood it all, of course. She had had her fair share of deaths, although those were accidents.

But it would never stop. If they intended to stay together – and Shadow entertained the thought more and more every day – then something needed to change. He would keep killing, and she too would be burdened with the blame. Inadvertently, it was her fault people with abilities would die. Unless Sylar had her power.

Wow. Now_ that _was a revelation. Shadow never took herself to be self-sacrificing. Her life was all about survival.

Shadow sighed. Why, why didn't she listen to her head when she first found him? Hadn't she known he would be trouble?

Sylar had ceased his pacing at the sound of her sigh and now stared at her with dark, hooded eyes.

"Sylar," she said his name softly and she flinched. She didn't blame him. Whatever awfulness she felt, it must be nothing compared to him.

He braced himself. He knew what was coming. She was going to throw him out of her life – he well deserved it. She would yell, scream, call him a monster, and demand that he leave. And he would. What else could he do?

"Sylar," she repeated gently. "Sit." Pause. "Please."

He hesitated – he'd rather be standing and moving when she cursed his name. The look in her eyes, so innocent and beseeching, finally made him gingerly lower himself on the opposite side of the couch.

She gazed across at him. "I'm sorry, Sylar."

_**WHAT?!**_

"I won't insult you by saying that I understand what you're going through. I don't. I can't begin to fathom how it must feel to be consumed by this 'hunger' that you have." Shadow paused, scooting down the couch to be closer to Sylar's brooding form. He refused to look at her, instead staring across the room, so she watched his profile.

"But," Shadow continued, "you aren't the only one affected by this."

Sylar scoffed. "He stole for a living, Shadow. He amounted to nothing in this world. No family. His death was inconsequential."

"Stupid, selfish man," Shadow sighed. "I'm not talking about_ him_." She waited until his glittering eyes turned to her. The lines on his face were tight; he obviously though she was on her way to a harsh reprimand. She smiled grimly. He was going to be surprised.

"Me, Sylar."

A look of astonishment crossed his face. "You?"

Shadow moved until she was flush against his leg and covered his larger hands with her own. Sylar cringed back, but she held on.

"Last night – or yesterday, or whatever – you wanted to kill me." She hated the way his body tensed, but she continued. "But you couldn't, or wouldn't, so you left. To satisfy this hunger you have, you killed someone else for their ability." She stared into his obsidian gaze. "Sylar, it's my fault this guy is dead."

Almost before she finished speaking his head was shaking. "No," he said. "You did nothing."

"If you hadn't resisted your urge, I would be dead and he would be alive. I'm the reason you killed."

"I would have killed anyway."

"Eventually. But we're in such close proximity that my ability must be tormenting you. As long as you're here, you'll always want to kill – even more frequently."

Sylar sighed, growling under his breath. Here it comes: Get out. He jerked his hand out of her grasp and stood. Shadow glanced up in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

Sylar glanced at her angrily. "I'm getting my stuff. You're throwing me out, aren't you?" He stalked toward the bed.

"No," Shadow said quietly.

He stopped abruptly and turned. She was staring down at her lap, hands twisting anxiously.

Bewildered, Sylar said, "Shadow?"

She looked up, eyes hard and determined. "You have to take my ability, Sylar. You have to kill me."

* * *

A/N: Yay! Thank you to all the new reviewers who've given me such encouragement – you're the reason I keep going! Sorry it's so short, but I didn't want to make the next couple chapters into all one for my own fun reasons. On that note, please don't forget to leave me a review . . . and you know you want to! I'm surprising myself by getting into the deeper layers of Shadow and Sylar now. Tell me what you think!


	10. Solution? Not if You Keep Telling Me No

Sylar could only stare at the girl. She looked back, seemingly calm and dead serious in her proclamation. Only the continuous twisting of her hands betrayed any emotion – that, and the agitated pattern of motion by the shadows of the room.

His gaze flattened. "That's not funny," he snarled.

Shadow tried not the flinch from the venom in his voice. "I'm not kidding, Sylar."

He flew across the room and grabbed the collar of Shadow's shirt, pulling her up and slamming her against the wall. Her head jerked back and knocked against the plaster, but she ignored the sudden spike of pain. Sylar put his face inches from hers, their eyes locking.

"You," he growled, "are not going to do some self-sacrificing heroics routine because of what I am."

"But if you kill me –"

"What would that accomplish?" he demanded furiously, hands shaking.

Shadow swallowed. She hadn't expected his anger; she thought he would leap at the chance to get inside her head – in quite the literal sense.

"It's going to drive you mad, Sylar. If you have my ability, you won't kill so many," she tried to explain.

Sylar leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. "I won't stop killing," he said quietly, with none of the venom but no less dangerous. "There's the flaw in your careful design. But I will not hurt you, Shadow."

Her eyes widened in surprise. What was he saying?

Sylar continued speaking slowly. "Throw me out and send me away. Leave me in the middle of the night. But do _not_," his eyes flashed, "ask me to kill you. Find another way."

Shadow took a moment to sort through this new revelation. _Find another way_. So he wanted her power. He'd admit that. But . . . he wouldn't kill her for it? So – dare she think it – he cared for her? Enough to leave her and murder another?

_Yes_, she thought. _In his own twisted way, maybe he does care._

To Sylar's astonishment, she chuckled. Hazel eyes sparkling, she smirked, "Guess I'm not the only self-sacrificing one around here."

He scowled. "What are you talking about?"

The laughter disappeared from her face. "Sylar, why won't you kill me?"

Such a simple question sent him reeling backward, releasing his hold on Shadow's shirt. She plopped down on the back of the couch and stared at him. Sylar kept backing up until his legs hit the bed. For the first time since Shadow had brought him home, Sylar looked scared.

Shadow cocked her head. "What'd I say?"

How could he possibly explain what he was feeling? How could he tell her that he was deathly afraid of the emotions taking him over? Hell – who knew he even_ had _emotions? Her question – _why won't you kill me?_ – was the same one that had tortured him every moment he spent with her.

Sylar forced himself to relax. "It doesn't matter," he muttered.

Shadow quirked an eyebrow. "Of course it does," she insisted. "Every morning I wake up and find that I'll live at least one more day. You refuse to hurt me – outside the bedroom, anyway –" she smirked, "much less kill me. I just want to know why."

He stared back at her, blank-faced and silent.

"Want to hear my theory?"

_No_, he thought, slightly panicked. What if she knew? What if she could guess?

Shadow hopped off the couch and walked toward him, her bare feet soundless. Her gaze pierced him as she approached.

"I think," she began, "that you don't want to kill me. Because you care." Hesitate. "About me. More than you'd like to admit. I don't blame you. What kind of serial killer cares about another person? Especially someone who has an ability like mine." Shadow stood next to him now, brushing her fingers against his arm. "But you feel something for me." She smiled broadly, glancing up into his expressionless eyes. "That's why you won't kill me, Sylar."

Sylar stood frozen for a moment. She had pinpointed his thoughts exactly, and she made it sound so uncomplicated – though it was anything but. Shadow had been through so much already, but she kept the innocence of youth in everything she did.

_Is that why I stay?_ he thought suddenly. _Because of her innocence?_

Shadow continued to gaze at him expectantly. Sylar shook himself from his inner musings and grabbed her around the waist, propelling them both onto the bed. He held her tightly, only for a moment, just to show himself that he could.

Shadow's shrieks and giggles were muffled by the pillows, and she reveled in the feel of Sylar's arms around her waist. The gesture was oddly human – not quite romantic, but definitely that of a close companion.

"You just keep thinking that," Sylar whispered, his breath hot in her ear. "Whatever makes you happy."

Shadow lifted her head from the pillows and looked at him, her expression sober.

"It would make me happy if you had my ability and people weren't dying because of me."

Sylar sighed, eyes darkening. "You have a one-track mind, woman."

"Thank you."

He kissed her gently. "But I'm stubborn too, Shadow. I won't hurt you."

Shadow lay in silence, eyes closed, letting Sylar stroke idly up and down the curves of her body. Abruptly, her eyes flew open and fixed on his gaze.

"How did you get your regeneration power?" she asked intently.

"I took it."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I get that. I mean, what happened to the person with the original ability?"

Sylar's eyes narrowed. He could see where she was going, and definitely didn't like it. "She lived," he answered carefully. "She's still alive, happy as can be."

"How long ago?"

He grinned wryly. "A while ago." Shadow glared, obviously demanding an elaboration. "All right, I'll put it this way: our abilities manifested at the same time, after an eclipse, and so did a lot of other people's. Almost everyone else we knew from then is either very old or dead by now."

Shadow's eyes widened. "You've been stealing abilities for …"

"Decades," he supplied, smirking. "Good thing age isn't an issue for us."

Shadow shook her head. Information to process later. "Okay," she said, "the point is, this person healed. And you can regenerate. It must be the blood, right?"

_Slightly misguided, but not far off_, thought Sylar. He merely nodded, knowing what she would say next, a 'no' already forming on his tongue.

"So kill me, take my power, and then use your blood to, um, bring me back to life!" she declared triumphantly. "You'll get the ability, I'll live, and everyone's happy."

"No," Sylar said firmly. "My blood doesn't work like that. It won't heal others."

"Oh."

"Besides, I probably wouldn't let you do it anyway."

"You couldn't stop me," she argued defiantly.

Sylar stared at her, concealing the wonder he felt. "Shadow, you do realize that you're offering to die for me?"

"I do," she replied, and blushed.

Sylar grinned, hearing the words just as she did, but shook his head anyway. "Shadow, I'm not worth that."

"I disagree."

He studied her. "You're going to keep pursuing this, aren't you?"

"As long as I can."

"Well, if you really want to try …" he hesitated.

Shadow's heart leapt. "Yes?"

He sighed heavily and pulled her into a tight hug. "I might know some people who could help …"

* * *

A/N: Ah hahahaha! Aren't I being downright devious with all these cliffhangers? So who are they going to see? And what's up with Sylar's sudden protectiveness of Shadow? They're in deep now, readers.

I really tried to wait a few more days until posting this chapter, but I admit: I couldn't wait to get feedback! I'm having so much fun writing this. ^_^ As always, please **REVIEW** and let me know what you think. Reviews make the words come faster. Thanks for reading!


	11. Meeting of Abilities

"Where are we?"

Sylar glanced at Shadow as she stepped out the passenger door. "Upstate New York," he replied shortly.

Shadow gazed around the landscape, glad to be out of the confines of the car. The ride to – wherever they were – had only taken an hour, but it felt much longer because of the silent tension between them. Sylar hadn't really wanted to bring her, but she had insisted, so he quietly fumed the whole way here.

'Here' happened to be a quaint little farm house, the only structure for miles. Shadow almost asked if they were at the right place. Why would a regenerist live in the middle of nowhere?

Sylar slammed the car door harder than was necessary; before the sound faded the car had dissipated into the nothingness surrounding them. He turned to Shadow, merely staring at the girl with expressionless eyes.

"I can't concentrate," she confessed quietly.

The dark-and-shadows car had been hers, of course. Sylar had been all for grand theft auto until Shadow offered to make them some wheels, further impressing the extent of her abilities. Sylar wasn't entirely sure how it ran, but brought them from city point A to country point B. He still couldn't believe these two had settled down here, of all places. It was an entertaining thought, though.

Sylar sighed and grabbed Shadow's hand, noting the sweaty palm and lip-biting. He pulled her toward the house and she followed willingly, if not a bit reluctantly.

"Nervous much?" he teased.

Shadow bit harder, too high-strung to comment on his unorthodox brand of humor. "Sylar, you haven't even told me who we're going to see. I know I wanted this, but you are still about to slice open my skull. Excuse me for not being Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected," her voice rose at the end, edging with hysteria.

He squeezed her hand. "You can still back out," he reminded her.

That steadied her resolve. "No," she replied firmly.

Together they climbed the wooden steps, stopped by a screen door. Sylar stepped down one, placing himself behind Shadow; even then, he had a few inches on her.

"Knock," he instructed gently.

"Why me?" she demanded. Sylar heard the panic in her voice and leaned in to place a soft kiss on her neck.

"You're the one who insisted we come," he whispered, sending a shiver across her skin.

Shadow reluctantly raised a closed fist, hesitated, and knocked quickly. Almost immediately she heard commotion from inside and a holler that whoever it was would "Be right there!" Shadow swallowed audibly and Sylar chuckled, smirking. Faint footsteps approached from inside the house and then the door was flung open.

Framed in the doorway stood a petite female, long golden hair shining in the mid-morning sun. She didn't appear much older than Shadow, but lacked the innocence of youth Shadow still possessed. The girl had seen much more than Shadow ever would. Despite this, her eyes sparkled and a perky smile stretched her mouth wide as she looked at Shadow.

"Hey there, can I help . . .?" her greeting trailed off, her gazed fixed on the person over Shadow's shoulder. The girl's demeanor hardened and her eyes cooled.

"Sylar," she nodded. "What a surprise."

"Hey, Claire," he said casually. "Long time no see." Shadow glanced over her shoulder; he wore a smile that seemed reserved for this Claire girl alone, a private joke shared between them. Shadow felt a flare of jealousy. Who was this chick, anyway?

Claire regarded him, showing something like distaste. "Indeed," she said slowly. Her gaze darted from Sylar to Shadow and back. "To what do I owe this unexpected drop on my front porch?"

"This is Shadow," Sylar replied, gesturing. "Shadow, this is Claire, to whom I owe my infinitely extended lifespan."

Claire scowled while Shadow looked shocked. "You're the regenerist?" she asked, eyes wide.

The scowl deepened. "Yes . . ." Claire responded slowly. Her focus returned to Sylar. "Sylar, what are you doing here? What's this all about?"

Sylar took a deep breath. _For Shadow_, he reminded himself. "Claire, we have a problem."

"And?"

"And we need your help."

Serial-killer-Sylar asking for her help. Claire glanced to the sky just to make sure it wasn't falling. She shook her head. "No can do, Sylar. Now get off my steps and back to where you came from."

"Please," Shadow found her voice. Claire paused, taking in the girl. "Please, you have to," she begged in desperation. "I'm out of ideas, and he only barely agreed to bring me here, to you."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "This was your idea?" She looked to Sylar for confirmation.

Sylar nodded. "All her, cheerleader."

"Cheerleader?" Claire smiled sadly. "Not for a long time, Sylar."

He nodded, understanding. "At least hear her out. She's determined to do this."

Claire looked between the two again and sighed as she stepped back, swinging the door wide. "Come on in, then," she drawled.

Shadow entered the house, offering Claire a small smile as she moved past. Sylar followed, but Claire seized his arm and stopped him. Her eyes were shards of ice.

"Why us, Sylar?"

"I think you'll understand once she explains it."

Her grip tightened. "Am I going to regret this?"

"I hope not," he answered honestly.

"You don't get any favors," Claire reminded him. "I owe you nothing."

He pried her hand from his arm and walked into the house. "I know, Claire. I know."

* * * * * *

The accepted glasses of lemonade sat untouched on the kitchen table, failing to distract from the heavy, uncomfortable silence in the room. Shadow kept shooting glances at Sylar, who only looked back with a mildly bored expression. Claire sat across from Shadow and seemed to be studying the younger girl with a bit more interest than she had displayed on the steps. Shadow shifted uncomfortably under the blonde's scrutiny and sent Sylar pleading eyes.

Sylar cleared his throat. "So. Where's lover-boy?"

Claire finally removed her gaze from Shadow and winced. "I really wish you wouldn't call him that."

He smirked. "Force of habit."

"He's at work, but he should be home soon," Claire said, glancing at the clock. "Why does he need to be here anyway?"

"I have a theory, and he can help."

Claire frowned. "You aren't giving me much to go on, Sylar."

He glanced at Shadow, quietly sitting and watching their exchange with her raven hair falling in her face. "We'll tell you everything once lover-boy arrives."

Shaking her head, Claire turned her attention to Shadow. "So. It's Shadow, right?"

Shadow nodded once. "Yeah."

"What do you do?"

Shadow looked startled. "What do you mean?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Please. Sylar doesn't go out of his way for anyone. I'm smarter than I look – you're special. Meaning you must have an ability."

Shadow dropped her gaze to the table. "I can manipulate darkness and shadows," she admitted quietly.

Claire's eyes widened slightly. "Wow. That's powerful stuff."

Shadow shrugged, chewing her lip once more.

"So," Claire tried again. "Where are you from?"

A slight smile ghosted across Shadow's face. "Hell," she answered. Seeing the skeptical look in Claire's eyes, Shadow elaborated. "Hell, Michigan. I moved to NYC a couple years ago."

"Oh, the city. I used to know some people from there." She glanced at Sylar, exchanging another one of those private-joke looks. "Exciting place, isn't it?"

"I don't get out much," Shadow shrugged.

Sylar cocked his head suddenly, halting the conversation. "Finally," he muttered. He looked up at Claire. "Guess who's home?"

Shadow heard a soft thump on the stairs outside, immediately followed by the gritty creak of the screen door opening. Claire threw Sylar a look, slightly worried now.

"Can you handle him if he won't listen?" she asked.

Sylar nodded, casually summoning blue sparks to his fingertips. "Absolutely."

"Claire?" a masculine voice called down the hall to the kitchen. Shadow visibly tensed. Why did someone else have to be involved in this?

"Relax," Sylar whispered, reaching across the table to grab her hand.

"Claire? What's going . . . ?" the man's voice choked. Claire hurriedly stood and ran to the presence behind Shadow. Sylar was staring over her head, a twisted smirk on his lips.

"Claire, what's he doing here?" The man sounded angry and disgusted.

Shadow swiveled in her chair and was confronted with a tall, looming man. His dark hair fell across his forehead, cutely so. He had muscle, but his body was lean even under the casual tee-shirt. The man held Claire close and stared distrustfully at Sylar. His eyes skimmed over Shadow and narrowed. She went back to biting.

Claire spoke to the man in quick, low tones, hastily convincing him not to overreact and listen to what they were saying. After several heated minutes, he placed a medic's bag on the counter and gave Claire a fast kiss before sitting in an unoccupied seat. Claire returned to her own chair, running a hand over the man's shoulders as she did so.

Sylar grinned. "Good to see you two finally got over your moral dilemmas. Kissing in front of strangers?" He shook his head mockingly.

The man stared at Sylar stone-faced. "Sylar. I'd say that it's nice to see you again . . . but that would be lying, wouldn't it?"

"Not your style, huh?" Sylar glanced at Shadow. "Shadow, meet Peter Petrelli. Peter, meet Shadow. She's the only reason I'm here," he added.

Peter's dark eyes raked over Shadow, who had begun twisting her hands under the table. He nodded curtly.

"I can't believe you let him in," he muttered to Claire.

Shadow decided that she had to act fast or they were going to lose this opportunity. Sure, she was going to die, but only for a little while. Then she'd be alive again and with Sylar. She swallowed.

"Look, uh, Mr. Petrelli –"

"Peter," he corrected, turning his attention to Shadow. "Mr. Petrelli was my brother." He smiled, considerably warmer toward her than Sylar.

Shadow smiled nervously. "Peter. Right. Well, I guess I should explain why we're here . . ."

* * * * * *

Peter shoved himself away from the table angrily and began stalking around the kitchen.

"Tell me if I'm hearing this right," he ground out. "You –" he glared at Shadow, "_want_ Sylar to kill you and take your ability. Your reasoning is that he won't kill as many people when he's with you, with your power. Then you think taking Claire's blood to bring you back from the dead will make everything okay?" His tone bordered accusatory and incredulous.

Claire only stared at he girl, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest defiantly. Claire knew that stance – she used it many times herself. Shadow had made up her mind and wasn't going to back down.

"And you!" Peter whirled to face Sylar. "You agree with this? That's why you brought her here. You're so_ selfish_ that you couldn't even consider the possible alternatives –"

"I told her to throw me out," Sylar said, dangerously calm. "Or leave me. But she's a stubborn little special." His eyes shifted to Claire. "Ever had to deal with one of those before? Besides," he focused back on Peter. "If I'm so _selfish_ why did I bring her to you? Why haven't I killed her already?"

Peter paused, eyes burning. Claire reached up and touched his arm gently. He looked down and Shadow watched silent communication pass between them.

"If you won't do it, I will," Claire whispered softly.

Peter jerked back. Staring around the room, he could see he was outnumbered. He sighed resignedly and dropped into his vacated chair, running a hand over his face. "How are we going to do this, then?" he finally asked. Shadow's eyes widened. They were saying yes. She grinned across the table at Sylar, who winked.

"I assume you have a plan?" Peter demanded, eyes on Sylar.

Sylar smirked. "Don't I always?"

* * *

A/N: Worth waiting for? *chuckle* You haven't seen anything yet.

Just to clear up a few things, this is getting a bit AU now. The way I interpreted is that Peter's ability in 'Fugitives' evolves as time goes on, so he can hold onto more abilities at one time. That's how he can still have Claire's power and he can fly (which is how he got to the house). And, yes, this is a Paire thing. You can decide whether you want them to be unrelated, or (my personal preference) they chose to get together after their family died. That's where Sylar's mention of 'moral dilemmas' applies.

Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to **REVIEW**! Reviews = happiness = faster writing = more chapters sooner. ^_^


	12. Killing Me Softly Part I

"IV, anesthetic, syringe."

"Sounds about right. So glad a good nurse is always prepared."

"Shut up, Sylar."

Their voices drifted out to the front steps and Shadow smiled. They hated each other – of course she picked up on that – but they got along well enough.

Shadow breathed deeply. She could get used to this country air. Claire glanced over and grinned. The two young women sat side by side on the stairs, looking out on the expanse of land quietly. They had decided to let the men hash out the details on their own. Even to Shadow, it was a little disconcerting to plan your own death.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Shadow nodded, eyes on the distant treeline.

"Why are you doing this?" Shadow glanced over, surprised. Claire continued, "I've never known anyone to willingly give up their ability to him. What'd he say to convince you?"

Shadow laughed. "I had to convince him, actually."

"And now I'm even more confused."

"A few nights ago, Sylar left me and murdered someone else. When he returned, I confronted him. When I found out that he had killed someone so that he wouldn't kill me, I told him to take my ability." Claire's eyes widened. "It's a guilt complex," Shadow explained. "His and mine. I don't want to be responsible for deaths that could be prevented."

"So why aren't you dead?"

"He refuses to hurt me. Therefore killing is out of the picture. I came up with the idea of using a regenerist's blood so that I would live and he'd still have my power."

"But why give it up?" Claire persisted. "Why not just send him away? I think he'd go if you told him to."

Shadow paused. "I care about him. I want him to stay," she confessed.

Claire raised an eyebrow and returned her gaze to the landscape. "You care about Sylar. That's definitely a new one."

Shadow shrugged, smiling.

The screen door opened, lightly hitting their backs. Claire and Shadow twisted around to see Peter hovering in the doorway, his expression darkened.

"We're ready," he said shortly before retreating back into the house.

Shadow stood quickly and stretched. Claire rose and offered a fleeting smile; she turned to walk inside, but Shadow's voice stopped her.

"What's it like?"

Claire paused, glancing over her shoulder. "What's what like?"

"Dying."

Claire studied the girl. Shadow didn't appear scared – only curious, in a morbid sort of way. Claire mentally shook her head. She didn't understand why Shadow would literally die for someone like Sylar, but then she truly must care.

Claire shrugged. "I'm not sure, Shadow. The normal rules don't apply to me when it comes to death."

Shadow nodded once and followed Claire into the shaded interior of the hall. Entering the kitchen, she noticed the plain table had been cleared and Sylar stood nearby holding several lengths of rope.

_I didn't even get a last meal._ The bizarre thought surfaced in Shadow's mind and she swallowed a giggle.

Sylar took sure strides around the table, shifting the rope to one hand, and stroked Shadow's face gently upon approach.

Looking in her chocolate eyes, he could see that Shadow was determined to follow through with her decision. Still, he couldn't help asking her again, "Are you sure you want to do this, Shadow?"

She stretched up and pulled his face to hers, giving him a lingering kiss. "Yes, Sylar," she whispered against his mouth. "Just kill me already." He heard the smile in her voice, but still pulled away frowning.

"We need to tie you down," Peter interrupted from the counter. "From what you explained to us, your ability will work against Sylar once he tries to kill you. I'm going to give you an anesthetic so that you aren't aware of the," he grimaced, searching for the appropriate term, "procedure."

Shadow smirked. "Such delicacy of words."

Peter scowled. "Not knowing how your ability will react means we should anticipate everything. We're going to tie your arms and legs to prepare for that 'everything' possibility."

Shadow hopped up on the table and swung her legs up. Sylar supported her head as she lie back; she carefully aligned her ankles and wrists with the corners of the table as she settled herself.

Sylar began to loop the rope about her extremities and Shadow relaxed, casting her gaze to the counter. Peter and Claire were assembling the various medical equipment, talking in low voices. Claire repeatedly touched Peter's shoulder, as though reassuring him.

"You seem to be enjoying this," Sylar whispered in her ear, giving a final, pointed yank on her bonds.

Shadow shifted her eyes to Sylar, grinning. She playfully tugged the bindings. "'Course not," she said, eyes teasing.

Peter suddenly appeared in her line of vision, holding a small needle. "Let's hook you up."

Shadow shuddered. "Needles, ugh," she groaned.

"You control the element of darkeness, but you don't like needles?" Peter asked, bending over and slipping the IV into her arm.

She sucked in a harsh breath. "Don't sound so amused," she bit out irritably.

He taped the IV down and quickly screwed in the plastic tube that led to a bag full of clear fluid. "Sorry, Shadow," he replied absently.

She frowned. He didn't sound very sincere. Sylar stroked her face tenderly. "He's in nurse mode," he whispered. "Calm down. You're agitating the shadows."

_True_, Shadow thought, glancing to the corners of the kitchen; the darkness swirled uneasily. _Or maybe it's you all about to kill me._

Peter leaned over Shadow again. He looked between her and Sylar. "I'm ready when you are," he told them, straightening and reaching for the on-off switch.

Sylar stood and looked down at Shadow. _I can't believe I'm going to do this_. He bent and placed an upside-down kiss on her mouth.

"Make it fast," she muttered against his lips.

He pulled back and smiled down at her resolved face. "You'll be awake before you know it." He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

Shadow nodded to Peter. "Don't forget to bring me back," she warned.

Peter smiled sadly without giving an answer and twisted the knob. Immediately, clear liquid flowed through the tube and into Shadow's body. She fixed her gaze on Sylar, wanting him to be her last sight before unconsciousness took her.

"Count back from ten," Peter commanded gently.

Shadow drew a deep breath. "Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . sev . . ." her voice faded and her head rolled slightly as she slipped under.

Claire walked up and handed Peter a syringe filled with crimson. Her eyes slowly lighted on Sylar. "I'm taking a walk," she said softly. "I can't stay for this." At Sylar's nod, she turned and they heard the screen door close moments later.

Peter met Sylar's eyes across the table. "Do it," Peter said quietly.

Sylar took a deep breath and glanced down at Shadow. _So peaceful_, he thought, noting her closed eyes and parted lips. He swallowed, raising a finger slowly and pointing to the smooth expanse of her forehead.

Killing Shadow was a new experience. But with her, he didn't miss the wide, frantic eyes that usually stared out of his victims' faces. He didn't miss hearing the short, fearful pants. He didn't miss the frenzied thrashing around.

And he definitely didn't miss the screams as the first drops of blood beaded through the thin line of red on her skin.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I lied. Sorry. I meant for this to be all one chapter, but (as usual) my writing took on a life of its own and ended up longer than I meant it to be. That means another cliffie. I'm sorry, honest. (Well . . . a little sorry.) Oh, and I know the whole IV on/off thing is strange, but I couldn't find any technical terms on the internet.

I hope my work is satisfactory – saying that I had a bad week doesn't even begin to cover it, so I was a bit distracted. I'm looking for some reviews to pick up my mood. Hint, hint, hint *Wink* As always, I appreciate you reading, and thank you so much for your continued support!


	13. Killing Me Softly Part II

_Death's not all that bad. I mean, look at this place. Sand and surf. Never been to the beach, though. Probably why I'm here. Somewhere I wish I could be, eventually. . . . Yeep! What's with the bikini? I'm too pale for that. Black is definitely my color, though. Hm, maybe I'll even get a tan. Are my thoughts always this sporadic? Must be the blood loss. Doesn't even hurt. Peter's good. Or Sylar's good. Whoever. They're probably both good. Giggle. Wait, what? A giggle? I don't giggle. Or do I? Definitely the blood loss._

_Hey, who's that coming out from the water? Damn, that sun's bright. Oh, it's Sylar. Gabriel. He looks like a Gabriel now. It figures, too. If I did, wouldn't I want to spend it with Sylar? Gabriel, I mean. Maybe this is the drugs. I feel loopy enough. Wave to Gabriel. Mm, so gorgeous. His hair is so cute when it's plastered all over his head. And those swim trunks . . . I can't believe they're even staying on him! Wow, I am so out of it. I kind of like it. Makes my head spin a little. Mm, it's so warm here. Warm, sunny, sandy, and Sylar. Yeah. Death's definitely not all that bad._

* * * * * *

The crimson line mocked him. He could smell the blood, sharp and tangy. He could almost taste the metallic iron on his tongue. His eyes stared at that taunting line, stared without blinking. The abrupt silence roared in his ears. Yes, that crimson line mocked him.

His pointed finger still stretched into the air, but the skin refused to split anymore. The crimson only trailed across one inch of skin, from high temple to mid-eyebrow. But Sylar couldn't do anything more. Already she looked scarred, damaged by his own hand. Something held him back from spilling the rest of her blood, and it wasn't just the thin tendrils of shadow looping about his wrist.

"I can't do it."

Peter glanced up sharply. "What?"

Sylar shook his head. "I can't do it. I can't kill her." The tendrils around his arm contracted and he allowed it to fall to his side.

Peter stood suddenly, his eyes burning. "Serial killer's lost his edge?" he said, biting sarcasm lining his tone.

Sylar stared back evenly. "I'd have no problem killing _you_," he countered. His gaze briefly flashed to Shadow's face, serene in her drug-induced sleep. "But I can't do that to her."

"I put her under just for _this_," Peter snarled. "You both came her because this is what you wanted."

"She wanted it. I've been trying to talk her out of it."

Peter gave him a hard, curious glare. "Why?"

Sylar looked up from Shadow's face. "What do you mean, why?" he snapped, hands convulsing into fists.

"You leap at the chance to covet abilities whenever you can," the dark-haired Petrelli pointed out. "And this shadow-slash-darkness control thing sounds perfect for you."

Shadow narrowed his eyes. Peter ignored him and continued.

"So what's different about this one? Why do you care so much?"

"I don't _care_," he ground out through clenched teeth.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You can't kill her, even knowing that she won't stay dead. That's caring, Sylar."

Sylar kept silent, merely staring down at the girl's face again. A flurry of emotion flashed across his face as Peter observed. He finally settled on calm indifference, though what he felt was far from.

"Can you just fix her head and wake her up?" Sylar asked quietly, without lifting his eyes.

Peter sighed, going to his medic's bag and returning with gauze, tape, and butterfly strips. He worked quickly, cleaning the blood from Shadow's forehead and taping the skin together; all the while he stole glances at Sylar from the corner of his eye.

Sylar didn't notice. He couldn't help staring again at Shadow's closed eyes, her parted lips, the strands of raven framing her face, the rounded nose that seemed just a bit large for her features. But the butterfly strips captured his attention most.

Even that one delicate line seemed to disrupt her innocence. And it haunted him, somehow. Tainted whatever soul he might have.

Peter shifted positions, his administrations now focused on the IV in her arm. He carefully terminated the flow of drugs into her system and in the next motion the needle slid from her arm, replaced by a makeshift gauze and tape bandage. He busied himself by clearing away the equipment and cleared his throat.

"She'll be waking up soon."

"You do good work, Peter."

The nurse looked over his shoulder in disbelief. It was probably the closest to a thank-you he would ever get from Sylar, but even the small compliment seemed genuine and very out-of-character. He shrugged and accepted it.

"So how're you going to explain that you couldn't kill her and take her power?"

Sylar closed his eyes. "I don't know."

Peter dropped it. He could see that underneath the rough exterior, Sylar actually had some real feeling for the girl. Best not push him too far. Peter dwelled in his thoughts quietly as he untied each of Shadow's arms and legs – no need for the restraints now.

Silence reigned in the small kitchen for almost half and hour. The two men took opposite chairs and watched as Shadow slowly made the journey back to the land of consciousness.

* * * * * *

_Mm. I could stay like this forever. Right hear, underneath the crystalline blue sky and blazing sun. Surrounded by the sand and the salty smell of the ocean . . . curled up next to a warm body . . . yes._

_Ugh. A headache? What's that? I can't be spared pain even in drugs or death – figures. Groan. It hurts. Throbs a little. Ouch._

_Oh, shit. Am I waking up? That's it, then. I died and now they're waking me up. Aw, come one! I'm happy here. It's so nice. Ugh, I think my head has its own pulse. That can't be good. Why does it hurt, anyway? That cheerleader's blood is supposed to be a heal-all. Something went wrong._

_No! It's fading. No, please, let me stay in the sun! No no no no no no no no . . . _

* * * * * *

Shadow's eyes snapped open and she sucked in a large gulp of air, trembling. Sylar immediately grabbed her hand, holding it tightly. He whispered soothing, nonsense words as sweat created a light sheen on her skin. Peter looked on, his expression carefully guarded.

Shadow shakily lifted a hand to her forehead, at the point where the pain pounded hardest. Her fingers met the butterfly strips and her gaze flew to Sylar.

"Something went wrong." She meant for her voice to be strong, but the words escaped in a mere whisper.

Sylar chose his words carefully. "Yes and no," he said.

"Oh, no. It was my power, wasn't it?" Shadow concluded. Her tone carried an edge of hysteria. "The sense deprivation stopped you. Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" she babbled.

He pressed a finger to her lips. "You," he began sternly, "need to calm down. Nothing happened because of your power."

Shadow sighed in relief. "So I didn't die?"

"Not even close."

Shadow muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like _stupid drugs and sun and beach_. She locked her gaze on Sylar's sharply.

"Why didn't I die?"

Sylar sighed, ghosting his lips over her knuckles and leaving behind feather-light kisses. "I couldn't kill you, Shadow. Even seeing this," he brushed his fingers over the butterfly strips, "makes me . . . upset. I don't like seeing you bleed," he admitted.

Shadow stared in disbelief. He spoke so openly . . . yet he was still guarded, because she knew how much he hated to risk anything, knew that he thought vulnerability was a weakness. Another thought came to her mind, unbidden.

"You don't have my power," she stated slowly. Sylar nodded. "But that means you'll still kill! I don't want that!" Panic shone wildly in her eyes. "That's why you needed to kill me in the first place!"

Sylar leaned over and kissed her, silencing her protests. As he drew back, Peter could see the conflicted sides – Sylar versus Gabriel, if you will – warring inside, wanting the girl to stay alive yet longing for that power. Peter knew the feeling; he had experienced that hunger, long ago. He knew the costs and consequences. He wondered if the depth of caring in Sylar reached far enough for self-sacrifice when it came to Shadow.

Sylar gazed down into Shadow's chocolate pools, wavering with unspoken emotion. He knew an alternative option existed, one that kept everyone alive. But he couldn't be sure that he was strong enough.

Shadow reached up and cupped the curve of his face in her hand. Almost unconsciously, he leaned into her touch. She couldn't begin to sort through what she felt for him, this killer, but she knew they had a connection. Whether they liked the fact or not.

"Sylar," she whispered. They looked at each other for a heartbeat. ". . . Gabriel."

His hand convulsed around hers and he sucked in a breath. Shadow continued to meet his eyes evenly, with an unidentifiable intensity.

"I promise."

"What?"

"I promise I will not kill you . . . or anyone else." Sylar paused. "Because you deserve better," he said hesitantly. "You're worth it. You don't have to die . . . and I'll try my damndest to stop myself from killing. For you."

Shadow attempted to sit up slowly; Sylar wrapped an arm around her shoulder and helped until she was fully upright. Shadow hesitated, a sudden rush of blood to her head causing a dizzying vertigo. She ignored the sensation and studied Sylar's face in all its seriousness.

"Do you really mean that?" she asked softly.

Sylar smirked. "Would you like me to take a blood oath?"

"No," she assured him hastily.

He held her piercing gaze steadily. "Yes, Shadow. I mean it."

Barely a second after the words left his mouth, a loud _thud!_ broke their focus. Glancing around, identical smirks spread across their faces as they saw Peter sprawled on the floor, having fallen out of his chair most ungracefully.

"Way to ruin the moment, Peter," Shadow teased.

Peter glared at the pair and scrambled to his feet, jerking the hair out of his eyes. "Forgive me for being surprised," he grumbled. "I thought I'd die before I saw Sylar swear off murder."

Sylar chuckled. "Good one, Petrelli."

Peter shook his head and glanced toward the window. "Look, guys, I'd rather you be gone before Claire gets home, if that's all right."

Shadow nodded. "Of course, Peter. Thank you for doing this."

"Even though it didn't go exactly to plan?"

Her gaze flicked to Sylar with something akin to adoration. "Especially because of that," she smiled.

Peter gestured at Shadow. "Just take some ibuprofen if that flares up. Hopefully it'll heal in a week or so."

Shadow slid off the table and steadied herself. With a brilliant smile, she thrust her hand out. "Thanks, Peter. I – we," she corrected herself, "owe you one."

"Don't mention it." He grasped her small hand in his larger one. He nodded once to the man lurking behind Shadow. "Sylar."

"Peter. See you around?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't doubt it. Do me a favor and wait a decade or so – or at least call first."

Sylar smirked. "Sure thing."

The sun was just beginning to dip below the tree line, painting the sky a bloody, violent scarlet, when the screen door shut behind Sylar and Shadow. She closed her fingers over his.

He grinned, eyeing her from the corner of his gaze. "Shall we head home?"

"Mm," Shadow replied, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

A/N: First of all, I'm **SO** sorry it took so long to update this. Prom was last weekend and all these exams are coming up and my time is extremely limited for pleasure writing. Thanks a ton for all your patience!

This is **not** the end of Shadows of the Heart! No cliffhanger this time around, but I still have a little more of the Shadow/Sylar story to tell. So keep watching for those alerts.

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading and let me know by **reviewing**! You don't know how happy it makes me when I open my email to find all these review alerts. ^_^ Thanks again!


	14. Shatter

A/N: So sorry updates are far between! End of the year is unbelievably hectic . . . I hope this makes up for it!

* * *

The return trip to New York passed quickly, the atmosphere significantly more relaxed. Shadow and Sylar talked freely, occasionally integrating sarcastic comments toward each other – playfully, of course. Sylar touched Shadow more than usual, holding her hand and stroking her cheek as he drove, evidence of their newfound closeness.

A tension hung in the air as well. Not uncomfortably, but it was there. The words neither of them were willing to express. Sylar because he was largely in denial (go figure), and Shadow because she was scared. She purposely refrained from forming permanent connections; everyone who got close to her eventually ended up hurt. Saying the words she longed to speak would cement that bond, and she wasn't willing to risk that.

The palpable tension shifted once they reached the apartment. The instant the door closed behind them, Shadow whirled to Sylar and fervently sought his mouth. Sylar reciprocated the kiss, feeding back on the girl. This encounter felt different than others previously shared, at least to Shadow: less about the desperation of physical solace, and more of a passionate joining of two people specifically wanting the other.

Shadow's head spun. Sylar's kisses were infinitely urgent, his touch fire on her skin. Clothes fell to the floor haphazardly, a winding trail leading to the bed. They fell to the sheets together, unwilling to separate even for a moment.

Sylar kissed Shadow deeply, exploring the deepest crevices of her mouth, and when she could hardly catch her breath he moved on to the bare flesh of her body. His lips fluttered over her skin, tongue darting out to taste the flavor; he nipped gently down the column of her neck, across her shoulder. She melted in his arms, a being of sensation and pleasure. He bit down on delicate flesh; she clawed gouges in his back that healed immediately, but neither stifled the moans drawn from their throats.

Shadow knew that tonight was special, different from the rest. When Sylar coaxed a scream from her depths, she shattered in a million brilliant, shimmering pieces for him to see.

Afterwards, they lay with limbs entangled, still breathing erratically, slowly floating down from an idyllic haze of bliss. Shadow rested her head on his breastbone and planted light kisses on his chest.

"Good sex," Shadow commented casually.

Sylar nodded his agreement, stoking her hair away from her face.

"We should really have a fight soon," she said mischievously.

He looked down, startled. "What?"

Shadow grinned. "Well, if that was good sex, then we ought to try angry sex and make-up sex. Apparently those are the best, hm? Both require a fight." She dug her nails into his side a bit to prove her point.

Sylar spoke slowly. "I'm not so sure you'd like angry sex with me, Shadow." She glanced up at him quizzically. "I think I'd . . . lose myself."

"Ah," Shadow replied, musing. "And that wouldn't exactly fit in with the whole I-can't-stand-to-see-you-hurt-or-dead revelation you had today, would it?" She nuzzled against him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not killing me. I mean," she rolled her eyes, "I know I offered it willingly and I was prepared and all that jazz, but it's death. Doesn't seem all that great." A secret smirk curved her lips. "Drugs, though . . . I could use some of those once in a while."

Sylar tilted her chin up with his mind so that she looked at him. "Why's that?"

"My four S's of happiness." He raised a dark eyebrow. Shadow grinned. "Sun, sand, surf, and Sylar. You wouldn't _believe_ how loopy anesthesia makes me."

"I would love to ask, but I doubt I'd understand."

"You'd like to. It's what you do."

He shrugged. "Your hallucinations under the effects of anesthesia are slightly trivial in lieu of more intriguing facts."

Now Shadow quirked an eyebrow. "Such as?"

Sylar smirked. "Such as, I know you love it when I kiss you," he ducked his head, ghosting his lips over the curve of her ear, "there."

Shadow shivered deliciously. "Point taken."

They lay silently for a while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. Sylar spoke suddenly.

"You're welcome."

"Hm?" Shadow mumbled sleepily.

"For not killing you. I thought I could, and then I couldn't and so . . . I didn't."

"You're rambling," she muttered.

"Yes." He kissed the top of her head. "Sleep, Shadow."

"Mmkay."

Shadow's breathing deepened and her body relaxed completely against Sylar's. He liked watching her sleep. So unaware of her surroundings, safe from a world that would never understand how special she was, how wonderful her ability was. He never quite saw himself in the role of protector, but the compulsion to keep her safe seemed strong. Not undesired, but unfamiliar.

Shadow muttered in her sleep. Sylar smiled, a rare occurrence. She didn't know that she talked in her sleep. It was cute.

"Gabriel . . ." she slurred. Sylar sighed softly. She did say his name often. Sometimes it was 'Sylar' and sometimes 'Gabriel.'

"I mumble mumble mumble," she whispered incoherently. Even his enhanced hearing couldn't pick up her words. Her brain wasn't processing the thought correctly and it sounded like rubbish on her tongue.

"You what?" Sylar whispered. "Shadow, Shadow." He spoke to her when she talked, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. It amused him, somehow.

Shadow murmured again, and this time her words slipped out clearly; they hung in the air, almost visible. She said it again.

Sylar froze.

* * * * * *

Shadow wakened slowly the next morning, her body feeling the aches and bruises from Sylar's handiwork. She smirked into the pillow. _Oh, he does do good work, doesn't he?_

She lifted her head and gazed around the room, painted dim gold by the morning sun. The tangled sheets saddened her, but only because Shadow loved waking up next to her lover more than anything. Inhaling his scent on the pillow next to hers, she tilted her head, listening for the running shower.

Silence greeted her.

Shadow sat up abruptly. _No._ She swung her legs to the floor, cold against the soles of her feet. Naked, she nearly ran across the living room to the hall and stuck her head into the bathroom.

Spotless. The countertop, which had recently held a jumbled assortment of toothpaste and toothbrushes, men's shaving cream and razors, had been cleaned. It was bare. Only her own toothbrush in its neat little holder sat on the vanity.

The panic was rising little by little, but it was suffocating. She backed out of the bathroom slowly, shaking her head.

_No._

She walked back out into the living room. His few pairs of jeans, usually strewn about the floor, had been picked up. His shirts, thrown over the back of the couch, were gone.

_No._

Her clothes that had been dropped to the floor before their rendezvous last night were neatly folded at the kitchen table. The table which had been cluttered by dishes, set for two, now placed in their respective cupboards. Exactly like the day before she had brought him home.

_No._

Shadow numbly walked to the table, to her clothes. The panic was a powerful, fearsome thing now. She picked her shirt up, stared at it, and dropped it to the floor. She paused. A scrap of paper had been left between the shirt and her jeans. Her eyes read the words unwillingly.

**I'm sorry.**

_No._

Shadow didn't realize she had said the word aloud until she was screaming it to her empty apartment. It echoed in her mind and in the air.

_No, no, no, no, no . . . _

"No, no, no, no, no!"

She collapsed to the floor, unable to stand any longer, sobbing as though her heart was breaking. Because it was. Shattering in a million shimmering pieces, scattered on the floor for her to see. And she sobbed and screamed, because no pain could possibly be worse than this.

* * * * * *

Two weeks later, Shadow missed her period.

_No . . . _

* * *

A/N: Ah! Please, more than ever, your reviews are vastly important to me! Give me feedback – am I being too predictable? Too evil? Well, I can't really change that last one, but let me know in any case. More is coming, because I know you all want the questions answered. You'll find out, believe me. Just stick around and **review!**

By the way, I'm almost done with school, so hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently. Infinite thanks for the patience of my faithful readers!


	15. Idiot Proof

_Why are there so many? Why can't one just be surrounded by a blinking neon sign screaming "Use this one!"?_

Shadow stared at the shelves, her eyes scanning frantically. So many different tests, all for one ultimate purpose. She had conceded to this unpleasant task after waiting five more days for her period. Nothing. Just this morning she had woken up, face still wet from the tears she cried in her sleep, and immediately needed to run to the bathroom to empty her stomach of whatever she had.

So now she stood in the farthest aisle of the corner drugstore, turning to the travel-size toiletries whenever someone walked by. Not that anyone knew her, but the mere principle of her mission made Shadow flush.

And, of course, just below all the pregnancy tests were the shelves of so-called 'pleasure packs,' aesthetically decorated with bright colors and patterns. She glared at the little cardboard cartons. _Just a bit late now, huh?_ Shadow thought viciously, and cringed at her word choice. Ugh.

_Just pick one!_ she scolded herself.

Shadow eventually grabbed one of those idiot-proof tests – the glaringly obvious **pregnant** or **not pregnant** – and then grabbed another for good measure. False positives existed, right?

She hurried to the front counter and shoved the two boxes across the glass, face flaming. The man barely glanced up at her face as he lazily rang up the price and slid her purchase into a white, standard issue bag. In the same hasty manner, she paid and fairly ran out of the store, not stopping until she reached her apartment.

* * * * * *

Shadow fidgeted on the couch, twisting her hands together; she determinedly refused to look at the plastic mechanism sitting next to her. She counted in her head, carefully, matching her breathing to the counting.

Ninety-nine . . . one hundred . . . one hundred and one . . .

She bit her lip. She was eighteen, for God's sake! _I can't be a mother . . . and I'm not. I'm just overreacting to major stress in my life. This is nothing – nothing at all._

One hundred eighteen . . . one hundred nineteen . . . one hundred twenty.

Shadow took a deep breath and snatched up the test, eyes squeezed tightly shut. _Nothing at all,_ she reminded herself. Slowly, she peeked open one eye.

**Pregnant.**

Damn those idiot-proof tests!

Shadow sighed. This was the second test. The first one had given her the same results. She couldn't use denial as an excuse now.

_While we're damning things . . ._ she thought bitterly. _Damn Sylar to the deepest circle of Hell where he belongs!_

Shadow thought that maybe she should feel something other than anger toward Sylar. She should be crying or something, right? But the tears wouldn't come, even if she had wanted them to. She was all cried out. Shadow sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees, curled up to her chest, and stared at the plastic stick in her hand. A baby. She was going to have a baby. A little human, a new life. A baby.

_Huh._

A single, heavy knock landed on the door. Shadow glanced over, uninterested, but her gaze drew back to the test and its mocking diagnosis as if by magnetism.

"Come on in," she called dully.

The door cracked open and Thomas – _the prodigal brother returns_ – poked his head around. "Are you going to try to kill me if I go in there?" The tone of his voice indicated cold seriousness.

"No, Thomas," Shadow sighed, not looking up at him. She wasn't surprised by his chilly demeanor, but she also found she didn't care all that much. She heard the door close and his footsteps across the floor.

"Serial killer out for the day? Found some new person's blood to spill?" Thomas asked scathingly.

Shadow flinched, feeling the almost physical hole around her navel. She tried to think of him as little as possible. "He left," she replied, voice hollow. "For good."

"Too bad."

"Your sarcasm overwhelms me, Thomas."

"So sorry." He set his briefcase on the table and faced Shadow. "You can't honestly expect me to be all sympathetic, Fae. Guy's a psychopath. Hey," Thomas said suddenly, appearing to have finally noticed his sister's stupor, "what's that?"

Shadow looked up. Her brother was staring at her hands, brow furrowed. She smirked humorlessly. "Congratulations," she tossed the test to him. He caught it neatly. "You're going to be an uncle."

Thomas gazed intently down at his hands, eyes wide. He glanced up sharply. "Fae, what the hell is this?"

"Exactly what it looks like."

He started sputtering. "You – Fae – you can't be serious. This is – this is a joke, right? _He_ put you up to this?"

Shadow rolled her eyes. "He did something, all right."

"So it's his?"

"Of course it's his," she snarled. "I'm not a whore, Thomas. If you really must know, he's the only man I've ever slept with!"

Thomas cringed. "Too much information, sis. I don't even want to think about that." He shuddered for dramatic effect.

"Shut up," Shadow muttered, unconsciously folding her arms over her abdomen protectively.

Thomas stared at her for a second more and abruptly grabbed his briefcase. "Come on, Fae. Let's go."

Shadow looked up, startled. "Where?"

"Hospital. False positives happen. We're going to make sure one way or the other."

"That's the second one, Tom. I'm pregnant."

He gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged. "All the more reason to get you to a hospital. You and a doctor need to discuss your options."

Shadow halted abruptly, halfway to the door. "I'm not getting rid of it, Thomas." Now she felt something. Shock. How could he even suggest that? She would never abandon her baby, not the way Sylar had abandoned her. Cruelty didn't fit into her nature that way.

He nodded absently. "Of course not," he soothed, in a voice that indicated he wasn't truly listening. "Other options exist. We all just need to talk . . ." he trailed off, mumbling to himself.

Shadow allowed him to lead her out to his car – fancy BMW something-or-other – and he pulled away, driving toward the hospital and muttering. Thomas was taking the news harder than she was. Shadow only stared out the window, silently contemplating. Her arms wrapped around her stomach again.

_Mine_. The thought popped out of nowhere, but Shadow knew it was true. The initial numbness had worn off, and wonderment came to replace it. She rubbed her belly affectionately. Maybe confusion and uncertainty would come, fear most definitely, but later. She soaked in the amazement blissfully.

_My baby._

* * *

A/N: Well, that's something to shake up Shadow's world. Don't worry, we'll get around to Sylar and why he had to act like such a jerk.

On a personal note, I love the many people that have subscribed to the story alert, but I seriously have to stress the value of **reviewing**! If you like the story, tell me. If it sucks, tell me. I adore each and every piece of feedback I get. ^_^ Thanks for reading, and honestly, just click on that pretty little button down below. I know you see it . . .


	16. Moving On

**Thanks to all of you reviewers for such positive responses! I'm glad you like the direction of this story!**

**Right, so you know how Heroes has the whole 'all the heroes eventually come together' element going on? It happens here too. Just so you know.**

**Also, I'm so sorry I haven't updated this sooner. My internet has been screwed up for several days, but it's fixed! So now, for your reading pleasure: Moving On**

"Why are you still here?"

Thomas looked up from an old magazine. "I'm acting in loco parentis, since the real father happened to run out on you and your only other option – which you won't take – would be to tell—"

"Don't."

His eyes narrowed. "Exactly. So I'm going to be the good sibling."

"As opposed to me, the bad sibling?" Without waiting for a reply, Shadow continued. "I meant, why are you here? In this room? With your sister about to be examined and probably dressed in a sheet of fabric which happens to fail to cover anything adequately!"

One corner of Thomas's mouth twitched, as though he was trying hard not to smile. Trust Faith not to lose her special sense of humor even in the face of the prospect of becoming a very young mother. "It's blood work, Fae. If you need an examination – Heaven forbid," he grimaced, "I promise I'll be out of here before you even ask."

Shadow nodded jerkily and shifted. Blood work meant needles, and needles usually meant passing out. Ugh. Plus the possibility of wearing those stupid non-gowns. They served no purpose for the women who came in looking to determine whether or not one would be a mother. _Detracts from the experience, I think._

Several soft knocks hit the door and it opened, a dark-haired nurse walking into the room and talking to the clipboard in his hand.

"All right, then, Faith Montgomery. What brings you here today?"

_That voice . . ._ Shadow mused. _Why does he sound so familiar?_ Then he shoved his thick hair back from his forehead and she knew.

"Peter?"

Peter Petrelli lifted his gaze in surprise. "Shadow?" he said in disbelief. "Wow. Damn. Uh, what are you doing here?"

"I don't think that is an appropriate way to speak to a patient," Thomas broke in, his tone professional and cold. He stood and moved up next to Shadow.

Peter blinked. "Sorry. I just didn't expect to see . . . you . . . here."

"Yeah, that happens," Shadow grinned. "Peter Petrelli, meet my brother Thomas Montgomery. I trust you two won't get along well at all."

The two men shared an iron-gripped handshake.

"You know this guy, Fae?"

"Yes, Thomas, we've met before." She glanced over at her brother. "End of story."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Right. All your stories are simple like that."

Shadow ignored him. "Peter, it's good to see you, really. I'm in a bit of a situation, and we just need it cleared up."

He nodded. "That's what I'm here for. What do you need?"

"Blood work." She hesitated. "A pregnancy test."

Peter's jaw dropped for an instant before he caught himself and switched to nurse mode. "Date of last, um . . ."

"Period?" Shadow smirked. "August 16th."

"Any other signs?"

"Well, I took two pregnancy tests that told me so." Peter raised an eyebrow. "But I think the morning sickness started."

"I see," Peter said. He started to say something else but stopped and instead turned to Thomas. "Mr. Montgomery, do you mind if Shadow and I talk alone?"

Thomas frowned. "Shadow. So you're one of those."

"I don't –"

"Thomas, go. It's fine."

He looked at her critically but left the room with a huff, muttering to himself.

Shadow shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry for him. He doesn't have very much tact when it comes to people with abilities."

"Perceptive, though."

"I guess you could call it that."

Peter paused and sighed, leaning against the wall. "Shadow, why are you here?"

"Tom's making me get the blood test, even though I already know I'm pregnant." Shadow sighed. "I might as well get the appointments and whatnot arranged as soon as possible. For the baby."

"You seem to have accepted this."

"Yeah." She looked up. "At first I was just numb, but then, I don't know. I was made for this, y'know? Procreation and all that jazz. Maybe it's maternal instinct kicking in." She groaned, falling back on the table. "Even though I never thought about it kicking in at eighteen."

Peter made a noncommittal sound. Shadow glanced over at him. "What?"

He sighed. "I didn't know you were that young when he brought you around."

"You don't approve?"

"It's not really up to me, is it?" Peter hesitated. "Shadow, is the child Sylar's?"

"Of course," she replied, an edge to her voice.

"So where is he?" Shadow's breath hitched and her heart stopped for an instant. Peter stared at her with solemn eyes. "Why isn't Sylar here with you instead of your brother? Charming guy, might I add."

Shadow sat up quickly and curled up into that knees-into-chest, arms-around-knees position. She buried her head in her arms. "He left," she said, words muffled. "About three weeks ago. The three longest damn weeks of my life," she bit out.

The clipboard dropped to the floor, but Peter said nothing. Shadow looked up. He stood rigid, eyes closed, hands clenched into fists. He appeared to be fighting for control of his breathing.

Shadow whispered, "Peter?"

"I'll kill him."

She looked shocked. "What?"

He opened his eyes and stared at her. She swallowed. His gaze was cold and murderous. "That day you came to us, to have him take your ability?"

"Well – yes. We went back to my apartment, and . . . oh . . ." She bit her lip. "Date of conception, then. And the next morning he was just – gone."

"I can't believe he did that to you," Peter hissed, beginning to pace. "I will track him down and I swear to God –"

"Peter."

He whipped his head in her direction. Shadow sighed. "Don't. Please. I need to take care of this baby, and I can't be worrying about whether or not the father is going to die at your hands."

"He deserves it," Peter spat.

"Perhaps," Shadow shrugged. "But this," she placed a hand on her stomach, "is what's important now."

"You can't honestly be okay with this!" he said incredulously.

She met his gaze evenly. "Of course not. I hate it. Sometimes I hate him. I feel as though I'm missing a part of myself. Every night I go to bed crying and I wake up in the same state. No, I'm not okay with it. But I know where my priorities lie. And now, my priority is my baby." She sighed. "The stupid thing is, I almost thought I was feeling something more for him."

Peter snorted. She glared up at him and he held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"Done."

"Do you still want the blood drawn?" Back to business.

Shadow shook her head. "I know the outcome already. Just lie to Thomas – I think he's in denial about it anyway."

Peter nodded. "No problem, Shadow. Anything else?"

She hesitated. "Peter . . . can I have you through this whole thing? I mean, I know it's more a maternity ward type of thing, but – you have some pull in the hospital or something, right?" Shadow looked over to the twisting gray shadows dancing on the wall. Peter followed her gaze and his eyes narrowed. Shadow continued, "I don't think I'm exactly a case for a normal pregnancy."

He sighed and nodded. "I'll see what I can do, Shadow." He turned to leave but paused with his hand on the doorknob, glancing back. "Am I allowed to offer my congratulations?"

Shadow chuckled weakly. "It's as good an expression as any."

"Congratulations, then." At her nod, he left. Thomas came back into the room before the door was closed, shooting a hostile glare over his shoulder.

"I don't like him," he mumbled, taking Shadow's hand.

"You don't like anyone," Shadow smiled back. She sighed. "Tom, I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"I know, Fae. But you're going to be fine. I'll be there whenever you need me, I promise."

She squeezed his hand, smiling faintly. _If only you could say the same for the one who's __**supposed**__ to be here . . ._

* * * * * *

The Corvette purred as it shot down the highway. Sylar paid only scant attention to the road – it was a straight shot from here to anywhere-but-here anyway. Steering with one hand, he ran the other one through his hair distractedly.

The ever-growing, more humane portion of his conscience had been gnawing at his mind ever since he left New York. Not that he had wanted to. But it was obvious that his time had run its course. He didn't need her power, he didn't need her, so no need to stick around. That was the excuse, anyway.

The words whispered in her sleep lingered in his consciousness again. She had scared the hell out of him, and he couldn't figure out why. Sylar didn't run away. He didn't work like that. So why was he halfway across the nation, putting more and more distance between them?

**So that's more of a transition chapter, but more is on the way! Please continue with your wonderful reviews – I love the encouragement!**


	17. All About a Girl

Shadow wearily flushed the toilet for the second time that morning, using the seat to brace herself as she climbed to her feet. She stared at the reflection in the mirror, feeling as though she were looking at a stranger. This girl in the glass looked tired and scared, which was unusual after eighteen years of seeing a strong, independent person who could take on anything.

_Almost anything_, Shadow reminded herself, remembering how death changes people no matter whom they are. _Besides, this isn't just about me anymore_. Her hand automatically moved to rest on her abdomen, over the point where a life was surely blossoming.

A heavy pounding on the door roused her from her maternal musings – Shadow seemed to be lapsing into those more and more of those as the days went by. She sighed and quickly stepped out into the hallway. It wasn't Thomas or Peter, both of whom had taken on the responsibility of checking in every few days – sweet of them, really, but she knew she'd be sick of their actions soon.

Shadow pulled open the door cautiously and poked her head around the frame. A slightly mocking smile graced her lips and she quirked an eyebrow. "Detective Michaels, come on in." She stepped back to admit the man entrance. "To what do I owe this extremely unexpected –" Shadow abruptly clamped her jaw shut and her eyes widened.

"Excuse me!" she gasped, running back toward the bathroom. Though she couldn't possibly have anything left in her stomach, her body tried anyway. After a few minutes, Shadow grimaced and hauled herself up from the floor. She quickly rinsed her mouth and reentered the living room.

"Sorry about that," she apologized to the smartly uniformed man who had uncomfortably been standing near the door.

The man in question, Detective Lee Michaels, nodded in an apologetic way. He was a bit older than anyone else Shadow associated with, approaching his mid-40s, his blond hair peppered with gray, the lines on his face showing the hardship of his years. As his deep blue eyes surveyed the girl before him, though, they held nothing but concern and kindness.

"Feeling a bit ill, Faith? That flu's been going around lately – nasty bug."

Shadow grimaced again. "Actually, Detective, it's morning sickness." She didn't miss his start of surprise and she smirked self-mockingly. "Sit down, please. Can I get you anything?"

"No, no, that's quite all right," Det. Michaels said distractedly as he lowered himself onto the couch. His eyes met hers. "And this isn't exactly an official call, so I insist – again – that you call me Lee. Morning sickness, Faith?"

Shadow sighed, overlooking the use of her given name. Only Lee was allowed to call her that, and she tolerated it. He had been the one to investigate her mother's apparent suffocation, and thus knew far more than any non-special involved in law enforcement should, but they had developed a reasonably comfortable relationship that has spread outside the now-closed investigation. It had surprised Shadow greatly when he had gotten the transfer to NYC, but she had tried not to be suspicious. And, most of the time, she succeeded.

"Unfortunately, Lee. Well," she checked herself, "perhaps 'unfortunate' isn't the correct choice of words. Yes, it's morning sickness, but it's the only unpleasant part of the experience so far."

"And by 'experience' you mean your pregnancy." He didn't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah, that's what I mean," Shadow said, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch. "I'm welcoming the rites of motherhood."

Lee offered a little half-smile. "Congratulations?"

"Works as well as anything. Thanks."

"Gosh, you're a bit young for a kid, aren't you? You're almost just a kid yourself. I remember the girl I met a few years ago, don't forget." His eyes held a sparkle, but he carefully avoided direct reference to the conditions of their introduction.

Shadow tried to smile back. "Yes, I realize that I'm young. I'm attempting to find the bright spots in this whole thing, you know."

"That's you, Faith. Optimistic even in the most unexpected circumstances. And may I inquire as to the elusive identity of the father? I certainly haven't met him."

"No one you'd know," Shadow replied, a bit quickly. She knew that Lee had a tendency to get put on the Sylar cases whenever he passed through their area of NYC, and that probably wouldn't go over very well. "Besides, he's . . ."

Lee's gaze hardened. "He ran out on you when he found out about the baby?" She watched his hand move to the pistol on his hip. "Want me to drag him back for you, Faith?"

Shadow chuckled. "It's a bit more complicated than him running out because of the baby. He doesn't even know, actually," she admitted. "And thank you for the offer, but I've already had a couple offers to track him down – and, like those, I must refuse. He isn't the important thing here."

He smiled knowingly. "You're going to be a helluva mother, Faith. I know that much."

"Thanks, Lee." Shadow paused, and bit her lip. "I assume this isn't a social call, though, is it?"

Lee sighed heavily. "Not quite, Faith, though I wish it was." He ran a hand through his thinning hair haphazardly. "I would think, with the baby, that you haven't been gallivanting about the city, have you?"

She tilted her head, peering at him curiously. "Of course not. Between the morning sickness and the almost constant need to relieve myself, I haven't left the apartment in almost a week. Thomas and a friend of mine, a nurse, they drop by like every other day, but I've been stuck in here."

He nodded resignedly. "That's what I figured. It didn't seem like your handiwork at all, anyway," Lee said, more to himself than Shadow.

"Handiwork?" her tone was sharp now. "What are you talking about, Lee?"

Lee looked up, age showing on his face. "Some person's running around the streets. Someone with an ability. He's terrorized about half a dozen people in the past two weeks. Complete sensory deprivation –"

"Like what I do?" Shadow whispered.

Lee gazed at her sympathetically. "Not exactly. As far as we can tell, it's only limited to sensory deprivation, just the five senses. Not nearly to the extent of _your_ abilities."

Shadow wasn't sure whether to take his statement as a compliment or not.

"He hasn't killed anyone so far, and we have reports from the victims that we know of." Lee cringed. "It's bad. He cuts off their senses, and then beats them quite badly." He paused, recalling some of the gruesome details, and Shadow jumped in.

"And once he's out of range, or if he removes the effects of his ability, the pain hits the victims all at once. And they can see and feel . . ." she trailed off. Lee nodded once. "Oh, God, that's horrible."

"He's a violent one, that's for sure. I apologize for coming to you, but it's off the record, I swear. I had to know it wasn't you. And with your pregnancy . . ."

Shadow smiled. "Yeah. Baby's keeping me under house arrest for now." The grin disappeared off her face. "Lee, let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I feel like it's a copycat or something, even though it probably isn't. But –"

"You had it first?" Lee finished with a grin. "I'll keep you updated, Faith."

Shadow nodded. "I appreciate it, Lee."

"I want you to be extra cautious if you do get out, though. God knows what I'd do if you were attacked . . ."

She grinned at his protectiveness. "You don't have to worry. I'll be fine."

Lee raised an eyebrow and gestured vaguely in the air. He knew how Faith could get, but hopefully impending motherhood would shove some sense into her. Baby makes two to take care of.

"So," he began, "how far along are you?"

Her hands automatically wrapped around herself. "Around six weeks. My nurse says the cravings will kick in soon, so I'll have to warn Thomas," she smirked.

Lee chuckled, but his eyes were serious. "He still hanging around?"

"He's been better since he found out about the baby. Like I said, he checks in every couple days. But, you know Tom. The office is his first love, always has been. Maybe that'll change once he's got a little niece to take care of," she said, a surprisingly tender expression on her face as she stared into the air wistfully.

"Hoping for a girl, then?"

Shadow laughed. "Whoops, guess I let that one slip. Of course I just want a healthy child, but, I don't know . . . isn't that the norm? Every father wants a boy he can play sports with, and every mother wants a precious little girl . . ." Her voice trailed off, a secret little smile playing on her lips.

"Speaking of the father, Faith . . ." Shadow looked across at Lee, head tilted to the side. "Does he have an ability? 'Cause you know that abilities are genetic, and with two special parents your little one is bound to have one too."

Shadow kept silent for a few moments, biting her lip. "Yeah, he has an ability," she answered quietly. "Can I be honest with you, Lee?"

He nodded. "Always, Faith."

She stared into his eyes, her own filled with a fear of the unknown. "When it comes to the baby . . . I really, really try not to think about it."

* * * * * *

_Get Lucky_.

Sylar snorted even as he swung the Corvette into the parking lot of the bar-slash-strip club. What this side trip was supposed to accomplish, he wasn't entirely sure, but he desperately needed a break from the maddening hours of road, silence, and bad radio talk shows.

The interior was dimly lit and smoke hung in the air, just like every other second-rate joint in the world. Sylar wrinkled his nose and headed straight for the bar, completely ignoring the half-naked dancing girls onstage.

"Whiskey," he demanded shortly. The muscled bartender poured a tumbler and left the bottle on the counter without prompting. He'd seen enough of that kind to know that the drinks would keep coming throughout the night.

Sylar threw back the amber liquid, reveling in the burn as it slid down his throat. The pain was distracting, and he welcomed it. He'd discovered the inability to get drunk shortly after coveting Claire's power, but the slight burn of alcohol remained. Hooray for small miracles.

A young woman sidled up to the bar next to him, sweetly ordering up some sickly-sounding drink. Sylar glanced over and glanced right back down to his whiskey. She barely looked legal, with straight black hair that fell halfway down her back; she was dressed like the girls onstage, so she must have been a dancer. He swallowed a mouthful of alcohol, trying not to think about how much prettier the black of Shadow's hair was compared to this . . . whatever she was.

"Hey there, handsome."

Sylar glared over disdainfully. Dancer sipped her syrupy drink from a fancy glass and looked him over with sparkly eyelids and eyes that might have been green, but it was hard to tell with the strobe lights. He rolled his eyes with obvious contempt and shifted his attention elsewhere, blatantly ignoring her.

"I'm Camellia. And you are . . .?"

"Irritated by your presence," Sylar snapped, shooting her another if-looks-could-kill glare. "Get lost."

She laughed. "Like I haven't heard that one before," Camellia smirked. "You'll have to do better than that."

He stonily stared into his glass, resisting the very conscious urge to cause Miss Came-whatever some very real pain.

"Let me guess. Can I do that? I'm good at this sort of thing." Camellia barged on without waiting for his response. "Let's see . . . hard-core whiskey . . . girl."

Sylar glanced over, eyes narrowed.

Camellia broke into a grin. "I'm right. It's a girl."

"Congratulations," he growled. "Get lost."

She tittered. "You know what they say about erasing a memory . . ." she trailed off suggestively, lightly running her fingers over his arm.

Sylar whirled and gripped her wrist in his hand, eliciting a gasp from dancer girl. "You," he ground out through clenched teeth, "don't get to touch me." He flung her arms away; she clutched it to her chest, eyes staring wildly.

He slapped some bills on the counter and stalked out the door, snarling under his breath. The chilled night air did little to subdue his anger, but the two combined gave him enough energy to think that he might be able to drive a little farther.

The car shot out across the deserted highway under the open sky, and Sylar drove with his hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white.

Unfortunately, he was beginning to think that no matter how fast he drove, he would never be able to escape the little reminders he just didn't need.

_What I do need to do, is really, really try not to think about it._

He barked a laugh to the empty car. Yeah, like that's gonna work out real well.

* * *

A/N: Hm, hm, hm. Interesting adventures our unlikely lovers are having. I must again give the biggest thanks to all of you who are reviewing! I love reading them and it really makes my day.

*Hint hint* So, to you who already do and to those of you who don't – **review**!! K thx bye. ^_^


	18. I'm in Love With a Girl

"Popcorn!"

Shadow rushed Peter before he had even stepped in the door, snatching the grocery bag from his arms and immediately rifling through it. She ripped open the box and ran into the kitchen to throw a bag of kernels into the microwave. Her finger punched the button; she impatiently drummed her fingers on the countertop as Peter's chuckle drifted through the apartment.

"Hey, Shadow, nice to see you too," he smirked as he leaned against the doorway of the kitchen.

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Peter."

"Cravings still kicking your ass, I take it? I wondered what that frazzled phone call was all about."

Shadow nodded. "Cravings and avoidances alike. Thomas tried to make me a hamburger yesterday," she made a face at the memory. "It didn't go very well."

The beeping microwave distracted her as she removed the bag and ripped it open. Her eyes closed and she moaned, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Oh, that's good," she muttered.

Peter chuckled. "Silly girl. At least you want something relatively healthy. I've seen the effects of chocolate cake and Rocky Road ice cream."

"Ugh, no thanks," said Shadow, screwing up her face in disgust. "I could eat this for days, though," she added, stuffing her mouth full of another fistful.

Peter nodded. "Good for you, Shadow. By the way, are you ready to go?"

"Hm?"

"Appointment for baby today? Don't tell me you forgot."

Shadow slowed her eating a bit, eyes questing to find his. He could clearly see the slight fear that seemed to darken her eyes whenever she thought of the future of the baby. She had admitted her uncertainty at raising a child with an ability to him, and he had taken it upon himself to offer constant assurance.

Peter walked across the kitchen and pulled the girl into a comforting hug. "Shadow, that's the point of this. Your baby is perfectly fine." He eased back to look at her face. "Yes, in all likelihood your baby will have an ability, but you, Shadow, are going to be a great mother. No matter what. First you have to get through this pregnancy healthy. Okay?"

Shadow nodded mutely and pulled out of his embrace, heading for the door. Peter sighed and followed her.

"We aren't flying, I hope?"

His lips quirked in a half-smile. "Of course not. Like I want a pregnant woman throwing up popcorn all over me?"

She looked over her shoulder, a grimace on her face. He chuckled. "I rented a car – just for you."

"Well, aren't I special," Shadow muttered darkly.

_The joys of pregnancy hormones_, Peter thought with a smirk as he ushered her into a humble little four-door. She got in without a word and stared silently out the window as they wove through traffic.

"Shadow?"

"Mm."

"I'd like to talk to you about something."

Shadow dragged her gaze away from the window and shot him a curious glance. "Yes?"

"I know you don't want to think about it, much less have me bring up a conversation, but I want to have a talk about . . . the father's . . . immortality."

Her mouth twisted. "Sylar's immortality?" He nodded a confirmation. "I've actually thought about that a lot."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Have you really? Would you like to let me in on that line of thought?"

Shadow shrugged. "Well, he told me about taking Claire's ability – not the specifics or anything," she said, seeing the look on his face, "but he mentioned that was immortal. For all practical purposes, anyway."

"Right."

"Well, I'm just hoping that Sylar _does_ find out about his child someday. What could be better? And immortal father, able to take care of her even if something happens to me."

"Which it won't," Peter interjected harshly.

She smiled wryly. "Forgive me. I've adopted a strictly realistic, if not cynical, outlook on life. But I'm not like you anyway. I will die someday. Mortal blood and all that. Sylar, though, he can look out for our kid even when she has children of her own."

"Have you thought of the consequences, though?" She shot him a glare. "Okay, okay, yeah, you're pregnant. That's not what I'm talking about. Falling in love with someone immortal just seems like it would bring more pain than happiness. I mean, personally, I'm hoping you two get back together. Eventually. But you and your child will have to grow old and watch him stay the same way over the years, and I can't even imagine what it would be like for him – What?"

Peter had seen her looking at him as though he had gone insane, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. He thought she _what_ now?

"I," Shadow choked out, "am not _in love_ with him!" She shook her head abruptly, trying to shake the idea from her head. "Where the hell did you come up with _that_ one?"

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Shadow, I see it every time he comes up. I saw it before, when you two came to see Claire and me. The way you guys looked at each other. You may be angry at him for leaving, and you can pretend that you don't care all you want, but somewhere along the line you fell in love with Sylar. And, unless I'm mistaken, he cares for you as well."

"No I did not!" she exclaimed loudly. "Peter, you've gone mental. I bet you're one of those hopeless romantic types, aren't you? Look, he made me feel better about all the shit that's happened in my life. I slept with him, yeah, and look where it got me. He finished his charity work with me, and he moved on. End of story. _Love_ never entered the picture, all right?"

Peter nodded, subdued by her passionate outburst, and they continued to the hospital in silence. He couldn't quite shake the old saying that kept floating through his mind, however.

_The lady doth protests too much._

* * * * *

_Stupid, stupid gowns_, Shadow seethed, squirming on the cheap paper lining of the table. _For all that's holy, at least turn up the temperature in here!_

The exam room was biting cold, and Shadow felt she was nowhere near protected in the flimsy fabric that composed her "gown." The room seemed smaller, somehow, shrunk by the presence of the machine next to the bed. The ultrasound machine. She swallowed. This was all so . . . real. This would be the first time seeing her baby, and she had to keep reminding herself to take deep breaths so as not to hyperventilate.

The door opened and Peter walked in, looking every bit the part of a nurse with his scrubs and clipboard. He grinned at her.

"Are you ready?"

"You're supposed to knock first," Shadow said, ignoring the question. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing him warily.

Peter sighed. "Shadow, c'mon, it's going to be all right. Before we start with the ultrasound, do you have any questions?"

"Yeah, can I go now?"

Peter did roll his eyes then, running a hand through his hair. "I should have never agreed to attend to you," he muttered. "No woman is this much trouble."

Shadow smirked in spite of herself. "Thank you very much."

Peter shook his head in amusement and plowed forth. "Okay, you're about nine weeks along, so I'm going to give you a list of vitamins and such to take for optimal fetal development. Which is actually pointless, since I'll be picking them up for you on the way back to your apartment today, but at least you'll know what you're taking."

She nodded. Peter hung up the clipboard and moved next to the bed, picking up a tube of jelly. Shadow narrowed her eyes.

"Lay back, Shadow, if you will."

She complied slowly, reclining until her back hit the angle of the table. Peter smiled kindly.

"And please uncross your arms. Shadow, I've done this before. You don't have to worry about a thing."

Shadow sighed and uncrossed her arms, moving them parallel with her sides, her hands unconsciously clenching into fists. Her eyes closed of their own accord, determined to block out her surroundings.

Peter parted the gown, careful to reveal only her abdomen and nothing else. He had no desire to bring down the wrath of a pregnant woman, much less a pregnant woman with the ability to control the very shadows of the room. He glanced around cautiously. The darkness was holding back, although much more concentrated in Shadow's corner of the room than anywhere else.

He noted her composure was tense, judging by the way her hands fisted and the exaggerated manner in which she squeezed her eyes shut. He stroked her arm once and deposited a generous amount of gel onto her belly. She flinched from the sudden cold.

"At least you listened to me about the sweatpants. See how much easier this is?" Peter said lightly. He sighed. "Shadow, what are you afraid of?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered.

Peter grabbed the wand and spread the jelly about her abdomen with the flat head; he turned on the monitor and the odd pulsing sound of the machine filled the room.

"You're going to get through this, Shadow," Peter said, watching the monitor closely. "Do you hear me? You are going to do this and you are going to be a mother and you are going to be a damn good one. Okay?"

She didn't answer, but some of the tension seemed to leave her body. Some. Peter suddenly sucked in a breath and Shadow, despite herself, opened her eyes anxiously.

"What?" she demanded. "What is it?"

Peter grinned brilliantly and twisted the screen towards her. "That," he said, pointing to a spot. "That is your baby, Shadow."

Shadow stared at the screen, looking from the monitor to her stomach and back. Slowly, a timid smile formed across her face. "That's my baby?"

"That's your baby."

Shadow reached up and touched the image gently. "My baby," she whispered. She was real. The little picture on the screen was real, and it was her baby. Wow. Shadow suddenly realized her cheeks were warm and wet. She opened her mouth a bit and tasted the salt of her tears. She looked at Peter then, her face shining.

"Happy tears?" he smiled.

Unable to speak, Shadow only nodded. For a fleeting moment, she wished that the father could be in the room with her, sharing her tears and her unadulterated joy, but she pushed that feeling to the back of her mind. At that moment, it didn't matter that Sylar wasn't there or that he was immortal and maybe could take care of the baby someday. She saw her baby and her heart squeezed. Emotions poured forth, emotions Shadow had forgotten how to feel.

Thrilled. Joyous. Blissful. Delighted, ecstatic, elated. She sighed happily, hugging herself contently.

"How do you feel?" Peter grinned at her. Shadow couldn't help but beam back.

"I'm in love."

* * *

A/N: First of all, I give you permission to throw things at me for being so late with this chapter. *Ducks* I'm preparing for college and on top of that we're moving soon, so it's been busier than I'd like it to be around here. I promise I'm trying my hardest!

There's little bits and hints throughout this story, and I hope some of you are catching on...

Yay! I know this chapter was a bit sappy, but I tried to touch bases with a lot of things here. I'd like to dedicate this particular chapter to **twilightgirl123** for asking me to include a reference to the immortal/mortal relationship between Sylar and Shadow a while ago.

Thanks for all your reviews story alerts (I can't believe I'm still getting them!) and I look forward to seeing what you all think!


	19. Redhead Fireworks and Dark Explosions

The smell of the ocean could clear even the most cluttered of minds. That was Sylar's theory, anyway, as he stood barefoot in the sand and looked out over the infinite expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The salt stung his nose sharply; his tongue hesitantly darted out to taste the air – fresh, like everything else about this place.

His cross-country meanderings had finally landed him in California, in the far corner that touched Oregon. Sylar had half a mind to hop a plane to Hawaii, away from the U.S. mainland, but he had decided against it, thinking it might be overkill. Besides, he was still trying to convince himself that he wasn't running from anything.

He felt a familiar tingle down his spine and shivered, cursing inwardly. Who knew that stupid power extended to lying to himself? It was healthy to live in a bit of denial, but now he couldn't. Everything he tried to reject just hit him twice as hard flat in the face.

Sylar ran an agitated hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in random tufts. He growled under his breath and turned from the water. The beach was practically empty; winter tended to dissuade tourists from the so-called sand and surf. How long had it been since he'd left New York? Two months, three?

He went to the ocean to think, against his better judgment. Of course he wondered about Shadow occasionally (if occasionally was defined as 'every other day') and contemplated calling up Peter or Claire sometimes, but always shoved the thought away. He had made a mistake by getting involved with the hazel-eyed girl in the first place. A mistake he would never make again.

That day was the first time he noticed the redhead. She was leaning against a tree, arms crossed loosely, staring down the beach with a look of perfect bliss etched on her face. Sylar thought her worth a second glance, but nothing more. He preferred strands of ebony, himself . . . and he mentally smacked himself for thinking again.

The second time, a few days later, she walked past him while he stood rigidly at the place where footprints and memories are erased by waves. He ignored her and she passed by silently, albeit wearing a smirk that suggested a well-kept secret.

Another week, another sighting. Sylar was beginning to think that the odd redhead was stalking him, or at the very least harboring an unusual interest. She still did not seek further interaction, other than the brief smile (which he pointedly ignored), and he wrote it off as paranoia. Long past were the days of hunting the specials, but the feeling never quite disappeared.

Exactly twelve days after initially taking note of the only other person who ever visited this beach, the redhead sat down next to Sylar in the sand. As always, he ignored her. Not like always, she looked over and smirked.

"I know what you are."

* * * * * *

Thomas pounded frantically on the door as Peter stepped off the ancient elevator.

"Fae, c'mon, let me in! I need to know you're okay; you're really starting to scare me!"

"Go away, Thomas!" Something quite heavy hit the other side of the door and shattered loudly. "I'm fantastically fine, except the fact that you won't just leave me _alone_!" she screamed from inside.

Peter gently set a hand on Thomas's shoulder; the man jumped and whirled, relaxing slightly when he recognized the nurse. Peter nodded toward the door.

"What's going on?"

Thomas appeared distressed. "I showed up about half an hour ago and she wouldn't let me in. I don't want to just barge in there, because I know what my sister can do – believe me. But she's having this tantrum and I don't want to stress her or the baby, but I really need to make sure that Fae's all right."

Peter sighed and nodded, motioning him to move aside. "Pregnancy hormones, I bet. Such a bitch. Her body's going through all these changes; I don't think she's the least bit happy about dealing with them."

Thomas shook his head. "Thank God I'm not a woman."

Peter shot him a glare. "I don't think that's exactly the issue at hand, Thomas." He turned to the door and softly knocked once. "Shadow? It's Peter. Are you okay in there?"

"Just _peachy_!" she shouted. "Did Tom call you to bail him out? God, can't he ever take care of his own problems? I don't know why you're even here! It's not like you care anyway! Just go away!"

The men looked at each other. "Is she talking about me or you?" Thomas asked hesitantly.

"My guess is you, but it could easily be me."

"We need to calm her down."

"Yeah, we do. Look, how about if I go in first? I can regenerate," he explained. "Hopefully if she tries to hurt me, I'll be fine."

"Will that work?"

Peter shrugged. "I honestly don't know. We can hope, though." He grabbed the doorknob and called out. "Shadow, I'm coming in."

He quickly opened the door and entered, keeping Thomas shielded from sight. He saw her instantly, walking back and forth over the floor, angry tears washing down her face. The plate she had thrown lay in pieces on the floor, along with what looked to be a lamp. Shadow, acting purely on instinct and controlled more by her ability than her willpower, whipped a shadowball in Peter's direction.

His eyes widened and he dodged out of the way, but held out his hand to – what? Stop it, catch it? Shadow stopped her pacing immediately and froze, staring in abject horror as the ball of dark energy touched his skin.

Peter hissed violently, his hand being consumed by the tongues of blackness; his skin seemed to dissolve before their eyes, followed by flesh, followed by bone. His arm ended with an empty stump and he wondered if the damage would stop there or continue throughout his body until he was just . . . gone.

Shadow gasped and flung out a hand.

"Peter!"

* * * * * *

"I know what you are."

Her voice was smug and soft. Sylar glanced over. She was definitely a woman, probably nearing her thirtieth birthday soon. Her golden skin radiated warmth, as though the rays from the sun were being emitted from her body; red could only be used as a general term for her hair, it was more burgundy, the natural kind, the kind no drugstore coloring would ever be able to replicate. Her eyes were blue, exactly the shade of a clear summer sky, and piercing. She watched him like she could see straight into his soul. For a fleeting moment, Sylar almost thought she could.

He arranged his features into a snarl and turned from her. "You don't know anything."

She laughed softly. "Would you like me to prove it to you?"

"I would like you to disappear."

"You have an ability." Sylar scoffed and rolled his eyes disdainfully, but the woman plowed on. "Multiple abilities, actually. I've never seen anything like it. I know that the only one that's truly yours is intuitive aptitude, and you've killed for all the others. The most recent ability you've stolen was that of Jeff Samsung, who could climb any available surface. The first ability you took was telekinesis, a very long time ago. Want me to go on?"

Sylar stared at the redhead with narrowed eyes. "You know how dangerous I am."

"Of course I do." She stuck out a hand. "Leigha Swann, how's it going?"

He ignored her hand. "You have an ability."

Leigha slung her arms over her knees and rolled her eyes. "Okay, when you decide to say something _other_ than the most obvious statements in the world, we can talk."

Sylar shook his head. "What do you do, exactly?"

"I am a computer analyst just here in town. In my free time I surf the waves and date pathetic, useless men who couldn't get me into bed if they paid me." She smirked.

"You know what I mean," Sylar growled, fingers twitching.

"Oh, my ability?" Leigha shrugged nonchalantly. "I can sense others with abilities. I know what ability and how it's been used, ever. Quite overwhelming. You wouldn't believe how many people hide what they can do. And sitting next to you is enough to give me a headache for a week."

The hunger roared in Sylar's head. He hadn't killed since the crawler, it was true. Sitting next to this ignorant chit ground on his nerves – didn't she know how easily he could kill her, without a second thought? She obviously held no value for her own life.

_I promise I will not kill you . . . or anyone else. Because you deserve better. You're worth it. You don't have to die . . . and I'll try my damndest to stop myself from killing. For you._

Hell. Sylar groaned, cursing under his breath. No, no, no. She should not have this much influence over his life still. She should be gone from his mind – wasn't that the point of getting out of New York, away from her? Damn it!

"You want to kill me."

Sylar clenched his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms. "I thought we weren't going to state the obvious," he hissed.

"I'm sorry this is hard for you."

He ground his teeth together.

"Why haven't you done it yet?"

"I can't," he spat.

Leigha tilted her head curiously. "You can. But you won't. Why?"

"I promised," Sylar blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Ah," she smiled. "One noble act in a lifetime of pain. You'll have to tell me about that sometime."

He chuckled mockingly. "Not on your life."

"Careful," she said lightly. "It may come down to that one day. Now, can we try this again?" She held her hand out. "I'm Leigha Swann. How's it going?"

Sylar stared at her for the longest time, then he slowly lifted his arm and took her hand in his own. He gave it a quick shake and let go quickly. "I've had better days, Leigha, believe me."

She nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that . . . insert name here," she whispered teasingly.

"Sylar."

Leigha lifted an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"It's all you're going to get."

She grinned. "All right, then. Nice to meet you, Sylar."

He grimaced. "Can't say the same," he said pointedly.

Leigha shrugged, undeterred. "It's a start."

* * * * * *

Shadow cried out, reaching toward Peter even from across the room as the shadow energy swallowed his hand. Their eyes met as he looked to her helplessly; her horrified gaze locked with his and Shadow choked back tears.

"No . . ." she whispered brokenly.

Impossibly, the swirling darkness about the space where Peter's hand used to be was thrown back across the room, hitting Shadow full force. She screamed and dropped to her knees. Peter watched, shocked, as the shadow aura surrounded her and seemed to be sucked inside her body. At last, her scream tapered into a pained groan and she fell forward on her hands, panting heavily.

Thomas hurried into the apartment, glancing with terror-filled eyes at Peter as he passed; Peter's hand was already beginning to grow back, nerves prickling unpleasantly as they knit together. He sighed in relief and joined Thomas next to Shadow on the floor.

She breathed deeply, fresh tears streaking down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor. Thomas hesitantly touched her shoulder.

"Fae, are you all right?"

Shadow hung her head, gasping for air. "That hurts," she whispered.

Peter chuckled weakly. "Tell me something I don't know, Shadow."

She looked up quickly, wet eyes staring into his face. "Oh my God, Peter! Are you okay?! Did it . . . did I . . . ?"

He smiled gently and held out his newly formed hand, flexing the fingers for demonstration. "No permanent damage done, Shadow. But yeah, that really does hurt like hell."

"Like fire and ice and boulders on the head," she gasped; she was crying uncontrollably now, unable to hold back her remorse.

Thomas drew her into arms, hugging her tightly. "Oh, Fae, God, you scared me so badly."

"I couldn't control it," Shadow sobbed, clutching to her brother. "Peter just came in and my ability just . . . took over. Instinct, I think, but it was so awful. I knew what I had done right after I threw that shadowball but I couldn't stop it . . ."

"But you did, Shadow," Peter said comfortingly, patting her back awkwardly. "I don't know how, but you did."

Thomas glared at the other man over Shadow's bent head. "At what cost, Petrelli?" he hissed. "You _did_ see that shadow thing hit _her_, right?"

Shadow shook her head into his chest. "It can't hurt me like it hurts everyone else, Tom," she explained quietly. "It's my ability. Elemental, yes, but doesn't affect me that way."

Thomas held her closer. "And the baby?"

Peter sighed and shook his head. "Impossible to tell. I want to say that the baby is fine, because it's a part of our Shadow, along with the near-certainty that he has an ability as well. That could act as protection of sorts. But no guarantees. I'm sorry."

"She's fine."

Thomas looked down at Shadow. "What?"

Shadow emerged from Thomas's chest, eyes red. "My baby. She's fine."

Peter frowned. "How do you know, Shadow?"

She glanced over her shoulder, a smile playing about her lips. "I'm a mother, Peter." She chuckled softly. "I just know."

* * * * * *

After they had gotten Shadow cleaned up and infinitely less depressed, Peter decided to inquire further into the earlier fiasco.

"Shadow," he began, leaning against one armrest of the couch, "what happened earlier? Why wouldn't you let us in?"

She sighed heavily, letting her head fall back against the cushions as she sat between her brother and her friend. "I'm so sorry. It's such a stupid reason, now that I'm thinking rationally . . ."

Thomas reached out and took her smaller hand. "What was it, Fae?"

Shadow groaned. "It's just . . . me. Do you know what pregnancy does to a woman's body? My complexion hasn't been this oily since I hit puberty." She whimpered and made a face. "And this increased blood flow thing? I'm so glad it's winter, because there's no way in hell I would be at the beach with these legs."

Peter tried to stifle a laugh. "Oh, Shadow. You didn't want to let us in because you think you don't look good?"

She glared at him.

"Shadow, you're beautiful."

Thomas nodded. "Pregnancy becomes you, actually. It gets better, I promise."

Shadow sighed and hugged herself. "Really?"

Peter chuckled. "Yes, Shadow, really. You'll go through a lot during this pregnancy. You can't just lock us out every time something like this happens. Trust us, Shadow."

She smiled. "All right, all right, I get it. I promise to try not to freak out."

Peter looked over at her brother. "Good enough for you?" Thomas nodded gratefully, allowing a small grin. "Good enough for us."

"Aw, you guys are so sweet." Shadow leaned over and kissed his cheek, and, to everyone's surprise, leaned over and kissed Peter's cheek. He blushed and looked a bit dazed.

A sudden heavy pounding saved either of them from speaking and Shadow quickly stood, eyes dropped to the floor, biting her lip. _What was that?_

If that totally out-of-character kiss hadn't just happened, Shadow would have been much more surprised to see Detective Michaels standing on the threshold. Her greeting immediately died on her lips at his grim expression.

"Lee. What is it?" she asked anxiously.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"We need to talk, Faith."

* * *

A/N: I started this chapter this morning and finished it in one day – yay! I'm hoping that by getting this out quickly I can get some reviews, which seem to be dropping off. Please don't abandon me, guys! I love getting feedback from you!

As a self-promotionary side note, I have recently started another fanfiction of the Harry Potter variety, involving another OC and our favorite Severus Snape (if you're anything like me, that is. Who loves Sylar and not Severus?). I encourage you to check it out if you like my work.

With that said, it makes me happy when you review! Looking forward to what you think!


	20. The Line Between Reality and Fantasy

The tense atmosphere in the room did nothing to ease Shadow's nerves, already strung tight by hormones. She had introduced Peter and Detective Michaels, who seemed civil enough toward each other, but it was obvious that Thomas and the detective still had hard feelings. They had never gotten along very well, mostly due to the fact that Lee thought Thomas did a miserable job of "being there" for Shadow after the incident and the move to the City.

After assuring Lee that yes, Shadow had already shared the information about the special that had the ability to cut off sensory deprivation (which was half-truth – Peter knew, but she sensed that it shocked Thomas a little), he sat the three down. The creases on his face and the haunted look in his eyes stopped Shadow from bombarding him with questions right away. She waited anxiously, twisting her hands in her lap.

Lee sighed and leaned forward, resting on his knees. He wasted no time with friendly preliminaries. "He took the next step," Lee declared somberly.

Shadow gasped. "Oh, no."

He nodded. "We're thinking that he walked away and the ability lifted. The girl was found this morning and authorities took her into the Hearts and Hands Hospital. They did everything they could, but the injuries were too extensive. Suspected concussion, multiple lacerations and broken bones. She didn't last past noon."

"Oh, my God, that's awful," Shadow whispered.

Peter shook his head, face contorted. "So, what? This guy just beats up people to get his rocks off, and this time he went too far and someone dies?"

"Looks that way. We haven't found a connection between any of the victims." He hesitated. "Unless you count the fact that none have had abilities, from what we can gather. But right now we're ruling that as coincidence rather than motive."

"Does this . . . person . . . know that this girl died because of him?" Thomas asked tightly. Shadow looked over at him and her heart clenched. She knew the expression on his face. He looked haunted, eyes dull. He was basically reliving the year after the incident with their mother. Someone with an ability who can kill – she secretly believed it to be his worst fear. Shadow mentally groaned. _I should have never let him get in on this._

Lee frowned. "We don't know, to be perfectly honest. This whole situation could go either way, depending. Maybe the attacks will stop. Maybe they'll be worse than before. The adrenaline that comes with murder is hard to resist." Shadow squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze. Personally, she didn't see it. She hated every murder she committed – _the number, by the way, I could count on one hand_ – even though each one was accidental. No adrenaline, only horror and disgust. "And we aren't even sure if the perpetrator knows about the murder."

Peter ran a hand through his hair wearily; Shadow let her head fall into her hands and closed her eyes. This was turning out to be a living nightmare.

"I just wanted you to know before it hits the news, Faith."

Shadow jerked her head to face him. "The news? Really?"

He nodded tiredly. "We're making sure that people know who's out there. Just warning them to be especially careful out on the streets."

Peter sucked in a breath. "Detective, are you including information about . . . specifics?"

"You mean the fact that this person has an ability?" he asked. Peter nodded. "Not right now. We're hoping to catch whoever this is before too long."

Thomas clenched his fists. "And just what are you doing to ensure that, _Detective_?"

"Thomas!" Shadow hissed. While Peter spoke Lee's title with respect, Thomas had no trouble making it sound like an insult.

Lee glared at the younger man. "We're doing everything in our power, of course. Extra patrols out on the streets, profilers trying to figure out possible target areas and pin down unsub characteristics." He paused and looked Thomas straight in the eye. "Listen, Tom, I know you have issues with people who aren't exactly normal."

"You can say that again," Thomas muttered darkly.

"You need to have some trust, son," Lee continued as though Thomas hadn't spoken. "More importantly, you need to take care of your sister." He stared at me pointedly. "Faith and her baby are what you should be focusing on, you hear me? This should not touch you if you're careful and take the necessary precautions." He shifted his attention back to Thomas. "Do _not_ make me hunt you down because something happens to her, all right?"

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Nothing is going to happen to Fae."

"Um, hello? I'm right here," Shadow interjected, slightly annoyed. "In case you've all forgotten, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Yeah?" her brother glanced at her. "So what was that earlier, with Petrelli over here?" Thomas jerked his head in Peter's direction. "Is that taking care of yourself, Faith?"

"Thomas, you know that has nothing to do with this," she protested angrily.

Lee was glancing sharply from one Montgomery sibling to the other. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Nothing, Lee," Shadow sighed. He scoffed, not unkindly, but not accepting her non-answer for a second.

"Shadow pointed out in the beginning of this pregnancy that it might not be . . . textbook, due to her elemental power," Peter explained in a placating tone. "She just happened to prove herself right. No harm done, but with the constant flux in hormones it seems her ability is harder to control."

The detective closed his eyes and let out a gust of air. "I definitely did not need to hear that, Mr. Petrelli."

"Peter. Believe me, sir, I know the implications of this, but I'm absolutely positive that Shadow can handle it." He locked eyes with the other man. "I offer that opinion as a medical professional and as someone with my own ability."

Lee seemed determined to ignore the second half of Peter's statement. "Nonetheless, I'd like some sort of assurance that she and everyone she comes in contact with is safe."

Peter nodded. "I understand, of course. I'll be sure to stop by every day and look in on her, if that will satisfy you."

"It would," Lee affirmed, gratefully smiling in his direction.

"No!" Shadow protested loudly. "Come on, I do not need a babysitter, and especially not _you_," she frowned at Peter.

Thomas placed a hand on her arm. "I hate to admit it, Fae, but I have to agree with the detective. I'd feel a lot better knowing you and baby are all right." He glanced around. "No better bodyguard than someone immortal, I suppose."

Shadow rolled her eyes. "Thomas . . ." she groaned.

He shook his head affectionately, looking sympathetic. His met Peter's eyes from across the room. "I want to be able to trust you."

"You can." Peter stood and walked over to the siblings, placing one hand on Shadow's shoulder and extending the other toward Thomas. "I promise, no matter what, your sister will not come to any harm under my care." He smirked slightly. "I'll let you have some of my blood, if that's what it takes to convince you."

Thomas held gazes with the other man for a very long time. Lee watched, looking back between the two apprehensively, tense and ready to step in if need be. That turned out to not a problem, however. Thomas took Peter's outstretched hand and shook it firmly, if a bit hesitantly.

Shadow sighed obnoxiously and obviously. "Great. Just great. I appreciate the faith, guys, I really do," she said sarcastically.

Lee chuckled, much more relaxed now that the issue of Shadow's so-called well-being had been taken care of. "That's funny, Faith." She glared at him; he raised his hands in a surrender gesture and toned down the smile. "Look, you're the only one against this whole thing. Why don't you concentrate on making the most of it instead?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, be the optimist." Folding her arms, she shrugged off the touches of Peter and Thomas. "Get off me," she growled crossly.

Good-naturedly, the men backed away, unable to hide their smirks.

"She's a handful, you know," Thomas muttered to Peter as they retreated into the kitchen, closely followed by Detective Michaels. "I grew up with her and still don't know how to handle her."

Peter chuckled. "No worries, Tom. I'll take care of it."

Thomas sobered. "Yeah, maybe you will. But can you take care of her?"

"Absolutely."

"I'll hold you to that."

* * * * * *

Shadow sighed heavily as she collapsed into bed that night. She had finally gotten rid of Protectors one, two, and three and relished in the revered silence of the apartment. Her disposition was a bit milder, due to Lee's wink and the compliment about her small bump. He knew exactly how to defuse her temper. But it annoyed her, the way they spoke as if she weren't in the room, as if she weren't capable of taking care of herself. Did they not remember that she'd been living in this city for two years? Suddenly a baby made her helplessly incapable of the simplest tasks?

That wasn't the issue, though, and Shadow knew it. She would never be able to live it down if her baby got hurt because of her ego.

_Think about what's important_, she reminded herself sternly. No vigilante activity, no trying to be the hero. It wouldn't go over very well with her babysitters. She scowled at the ceiling.

Shadow couldn't help thinking about an alternate scenario, one that involved Sylar, here with her in New York. For one, she wouldn't need a babysitter checking in every day, revolving his life around hers. Anyone who saw him would know that Sylar could protect her himself, more than proficient at discouraging would-be killers.

That would be number two. She wouldn't have to worry about this other person, the one with abilities like hers, because Sylar could handle him easily. Shadow doubted that the girl would have died in the first place if he were still in New York, more so because he hated anyone encroaching on 'his' grounds than wanting her to be safe, but still. She could twist it into a sweet gesture if she wanted to, even knowing the impossibilities of it. Had he not promised to stop killing for her sake?

Shadow sighed. It had been quite some time since Sylar had left her. He was probably killing a special a week by now. She knew that with his hunger he couldn't resist the grocery store of abilities that was the nation of America. Fantasy couldn't block what she knew to be reality.

The third, and by far most imaginative component of her alternate actuality, was the fact that Sylar would be lying next to her in bed, preferably after a thoroughly exhausting round of lovemaking. He would know that he was going to be a father. She wouldn't be alone, faced with the probability of raising a child as a single mother. Peter and Thomas wouldn't have to babysit. She wouldn't have to attend OB/GYN appointments with only Peter for company – disturbing in and of itself.

Yes, if Shadow was being excruciatingly honest with herself, she wanted Sylar to help her through this pregnancy. She wanted him to hear the first heartbeats, feel the first kicks, place his hand on her swelling belly and beam with pride (although that might be asking too much – she could hardly get a smile out of him sometimes, let alone a _beam_), run out at midnight to buy chocolate and popcorn, hold her when the hormones raged out of control throughout her body, assure her that he would be there for their baby no matter what, and for her children, and for their children.

She didn't realize she was crying until the salt ran into her mouth and she tasted its bitterness. Shadow sniffed and rubbed her face furiously, pushing away those thoughts of what would never be. Burying her head in her pillow, arms wrapped tightly over the slight bump of her stomach, she sobbed herself to sleep.

* * *

Thank you very much for your continued support! I appreciate each and every review I get! I think I forgot to mention the title of the Severus Snape/Other Character story I have (whoops), but it's called Permanent and you can find it on my profile.

I always look forward to what you think, so please review, and I'll update as soon as I can!


	21. Lost Connection

"You try too hard."

Leigha shrugged. "I'm just making an effort. You should try it sometime."

Sylar snorted. "Not likely."

He had lost track of time, not sure if it had been minutes, hours, days, or weeks since Leigha came up to introduce herself. They walked the beach with a casual gait, nowhere to go in particular. Sylar found it oddly comforting, moving parallel to the shoreline without time constraints. The temperature continued to drop, ever colder as the end of the year approached.

They rarely had conversation more in-depth than that concerning the weather or an inquiry on the other's well-being. Not for lack of trying on behalf of the female counterpart of their unusual pairing. Leigha hardly ever shut up, incessantly talking about every little thing, but Sylar never answered; generally conversation required participation from both parties, but Leigha was patient. She suspected his reluctance stemmed from her ability, knowing so many of his secrets without even trying.

"Come on, Sylar, you've been here, what, a month? If I wanted to talk to myself I would stay home."

"By all means," he gestured toward the inland.

Leigha rolled her eyes. "You told me, right after we met, that you wouldn't kill me because you promised. So far you've held good to that. But I'm curious."

"Of course you are."

She grinned, shoving her hair away from her face. "Why make the promise in the first place? You've killed for decades – still impressed by the whole I'm-immortal thing, by the way – and never shown any signs of stopping. One promise, one that you actually keep, and you're murder-celibate. What gives?"

"Has it ever occurred to you," Sylar growled through his teeth, "that I don't wish to discuss the matter?"

"Yeah, it has. But I'm tired of not getting anywhere with you, so I'm going to push you as far as you're willing to go. How hard is it to answer a few questions?"

"Promises can be broken, you know. Exceptions can be made for annoying little specials."

"You would have killed me long before now," Leigha pointed out with that irritating self-assured smile.

"I still might."

Leigha sighed and shifted her gaze to the gray horizon, shoving her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. _Why do I even bother?_

Together the pair wandered the beach for a while longer, lost in their own thoughts. Sylar didn't particularly object to Leigha's presence, but she forced him to remember events better left forgotten. The circumstances of that promise that he was so unwilling to share, for instance. He didn't mind when the redhead was silent, or chattering about her own life in detail, because he could tune in and out. But her questions, specifically pertaining to him, got under his skin.

Leigha glanced over at the brooding man, a question on her face, and Sylar realized that they had arrived at a small, out of the way beach-side bar. He looked back at her; she jerked her head toward the building.

"Buy you a drink?" she asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you coming on to me?"

"No."

"Then I'll take it."

* * * * * *

Shadow yelped. "God, do your hands have to be so cold?"

Peter chuckled, shaking his head good-naturedly. "One would think you'd be used to it by now, Shadow."

"Apparently not," she shot back.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked, stroking over the definite bump of Shadow's stomach as she reclined on the sofa of her apartment.

She shrugged. "Not really sick anymore. The toilet must be thankful for the respite. I don't think there's as much pressure on my bladder either."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, the second trimester should be loads easier than the first." He fetched a tape measure and ran it over the length of her belly. "What about your abdomen? Feeling all right?"

"A little sore," Shadow grimaced. "Baby's getting bigger, huh?"

"Absolutely," Peter affirmed with a smile. "The stretching is what's causing that soreness. Can't say for sure how that's going to go for you. Different for every expecting mother, you know."

Shadow sighed, rubbing her tummy lightly. "How far along am I now, exactly?"

Peter rolled his eyes skyward, doing a quick calculation in his head. "Sixteen weeks – approximately four months." He smiled down at Shadow. "Almost halfway there."

"Is that all?" she groaned, eliciting a laugh from Peter.

"You'll be having that baby before you know it, Shadow. A nice spring birth."

Shadow's eyes widened a little. "What's my due date?"

"Uh . . . May 23rd." He felt a smile tugging at his lips. "What, you had important plans for that day or something? An appointment more important than the birth of your child?"

"Shut up, Peter," she snapped. "I just never thought about it before."

Peter peeled off his gloves and nodded. "I know it feels like it's all happening really fast, but you're doing great. My favorite patient," he grinned. He tilted his head to the brand-new television – a necessity after Shadow's boredom had begun to get the better of them all. "Do you mind?"

Shadow shook her head, slowly pulling herself up. "Do you think you could pick me up some shirts before tomorrow?"

Peter fiddled with the channels. "Have a preference?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Something that will cover my growing stomach and won't make me feel completely exposed in front of you or my brother or Lee. Do you realize I have no girlfriends in New York?"

He settled on CNN and returned to the sofa, giving her an odd look. "Well, yeah, but you don't get out much, do you?" Shadow sighed, shaking a no with her head. "Do you want me to ask around for someone?"

"No, Peter, that's okay. It's awkward, though, being surrounded by only males while coping with the physiological changes of pregnancy." She glanced down, frowning. "Yes, new shirts are definitely in order."

Peter looked over, noticed what Shadow was referring to, and quickly averted his gaze to the floor, a blush rising on his face. "It's, uh . . . it's not that bad," he stuttered, embarrassed.

"You, Peter Petrelli, are a male. Of course you think it's not 'that bad,'" Shadow smirked. "No problems with me as my nurse, but once the gloves come off . . . ?"

"I'll get you some maternity clothes," Peter mumbled, pointedly staring at the television.

Shadow rolled her eyes, unnoticed by him. They were both adults, and he was supposed to be a trained professional, but draw attention to the fact that yes, her chest might be a bit bustier and he clams up like a shy high-school nerd. Somewhat cute, actually. She smiled.

"Ah, hell," Peter muttered under his breath, furtively shooting Shadow a glance from the corner of his eye. She turned her attention to the newscaster and, more specifically, the subject of said news; she couldn't help but echo Peter's sentiment.

"Hell."

* * * * * *

The Sandbar, uncreative though the name may be, served its purpose to Leigha and Sylar. The establishment was vastly unpopulated, being December and all, and quiet; Sylar took a grudging liking to the place right away because of its slightly depressing atmosphere. The two situated themselves at the end of the bar, farthest from the door, and Leigha cheerfully ordered their drinks.

"Want a taste?" she offered Sylar, who had taken his usual hard-core whiskey. He glared over at her disdainfully.

"Remind me again what you called for?" he sneered.

"Sex on the Beach," Leigha replied with a smile, "on the rocks, of course."

"What makes you think I would _want_ to have any of that fruity concoction?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," she said innocently.

It took Sylar a second to understand the meaning behind her flirtatious smirk. He frowned. "You _are_ coming on to me," he growled. "And I do not appreciate it."

Leigha shook her head, giggling. "No, I'm not. I swear. It's just my nature."

Sylar snorted. "That I can believe."

She beamed in reply. Sylar avoided her gaze and swung his attention to the beaten television hanging in the corner. Some anchor on CNN was looking grave.

SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE IN NEW YORK CITY declared the headline. Sylar's frown deepened. He waved to the caustic bartender and pointed to the TV.

"Does that get any louder?" he asked, trying to keep the snarl out of his tone. Leigha shot him an odd sidelong glance.

The bartender adjusted the volume uninterestedly and walked away again. Sylar stared up at the screen, unusually rapt.

". . . details are minimal, according to the NYPD. The death toll is up to seven, deaths that have all occurred in the past month. The only information willingly released concerns the manner in which these people were killed. The victims are incapacitated – police are not telling how – and beaten to death. Seemingly the only connection thus far is that the victims do not possess abilities."

A harried man appeared on the screen, walking down steps and waving away reporters. "The connection reported is merely suspicion and not fact, and should not be treated as such," he stated. The name below identified him as the police chief.

The original news anchor reappeared. "This detail about the types of victims leads those of us at CNN to believe that the perpetrator _does_ have an ability of some sort. This serial killer is still at large, and NYPD have promised to keep us updated with the latest information. In other news, the President traveled to Italy . . ."

Sylar continued staring at the screen with horrified transfixion, although the sound faded in his ears. It couldn't be. Not New York, not someone with the ability to incapacitate their victims . . . Sylar couldn't possibly believe that his absence would drive _her_ to do something like that. And even if it wasn't, would that be worse? How long until those _with_ abilities were targeted?

He abruptly turned to Leigha, who was eyeing him curiously. "Do you have a phone?" he demanded flatly.

She had the decency to look startled. "A phone . . . ? Well, yeah, here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a fancy, shiny touchscreen something-or-other. "Who're you calling?"

Sylar ignored her, spinning away from the bar and pacing back to a corner; he punched in a number as he walked, fingers violently stabbing the screen. He couldn't tell himself why he bothered to memorize the number before he left, but he had. He slapped the phone to his ear and listened to it ring.

"Don't you dare not pick up," he muttered.

Back in New York, in the apartment, Peter and Shadow slowly looked from the television to each other, wearing identical looks of abject bewilderment.

"Did you know?" Peter whispered.

"About the deaths, yes. The fact that this spree had become national news?" Shadow shook her head. "No." She sighed. "This needs to be stopped, Peter. I've heard the stories about the Hunting. I refuse to be subjugated to that kind of treatment because of what I can do."

"I understand that, Shadow, but what do you want me to do? My number one priority is you, not some madman running around on the streets."

A shrill ringing suddenly keened through the air. Shadow looked around; Peter growled and yanked a phone out of his pocket. "Sorry, my bad." He checked the number and silenced the ringer, ignoring the call.

"I'm focusing on keeping you and baby safe, all right?" Peter looked Shadow in the eyes. "Nothing else is important."

She nodded reluctantly. Peter's phone rang again, more insistently than before (_if_, Shadow thought, _phones can sound insistent in the first place_).

Peter sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Let me take care of this." He put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Tell me it is not her."

Peter's eyes widened. "What?"

In California, Sylar closed his eyes in frustration, clenching his hand not holding the phone into a fist. "Are you keeping up on the news?"

"Sylar?" Shadow looked up from the couch, her eyes suddenly very wide. Peter stared back at her, mouth slightly slack.

"Just answer the damn question, Petrelli!" Sylar all but yelled into the phone.

"Sylar, listen –" Peter said hurriedly; he would make sure that Sylar knew the situation.

"Is it her, on this killing spree?"

"No, it isn't, but –"

"Do you know if she's all right? Is she safe?"

"Yeah, she's fine, except –" Peter stopped short, the dial tone buzzing angrily in his ear. "Sylar? Sylar?" He swore fluidly and turned to Shadow, shaking his head at her semi-hopeful look. "He hung up, Shadow, I'm so sorry. I tried to tell him."

"It really was him, then?" she asked quietly.

Peter nodded, sighing loudly. "Yeah, I really think it was."

"Did he say anything about where he might be?"

"No. Just asked about the news, about the serial killer spree, and wondered if you were okay."

Shadow silently stared at the opposite wall.

"I can find him if you want, Shadow."

She shook her head. "Don't bother."

"He did ask about you."

"That's something, I suppose."

Peter sighed and returned to the couch, tugging a reluctant Shadow into his gentle embrace. "I'm sorry, Shadow. I really am."

They sat like that for a long time, Shadow burying her face in his shoulder and willing the tears not to fall. Eventually, Peter swore she said something, but it was muffled. He didn't want to ask her to repeat it, but he thought he already knew anyway.

"Me too."

* * * * * *

Sylar stood frozen, the phone clenched in his hand, staring at the worn wall of the bar. Inside his head, he was screaming at himself. _What the hell did you do that for? Why did you call? You left for a reason; you stay gone for that reason! You know he's going to tell her! What possessed you to do such a stupid thing?!_

He had his answers, though. She wasn't the one killing. She was safe. That's all that mattered. Almost immediately, he berated himself for caring. Sighing, he turned to go back to the bar and nearly ran over Leigha.

"Who was that?" she asked, hand perfectly settled on her hip.

Sylar growled, tossing the phone back to its owner. "No one. I just needed to check on something."

"Some_one_, it sounded like. Who is she?"

Sylar shook his head, briskly walking back to his abandoned whiskey and finishing it in one swallow. "Why is it so important that you know every little detail of my life?"

"Because it is."

"That is definitely not an answer."

"I want to know about you."

"Why?"

"You're interesting."

"No, I certainly am not."

"You are to me."

"You want to know who she is?"

His sudden turnabout startled Leigha, but she recovered relatively quickly. "Yes, I do."

Sylar's gaze weighed heavily on her and she fought not to squirm. His eyes could be so intense sometimes. _That's what you get for dragging an admission out of him_, she told herself.

Sylar took a long time answering, considering just how to say the words he needed to satisfy Leigha.

"I made the promise to her. The promise to stop killing."

Leigha considered this, tilting her head. "So she's important to you."

He glared, eyes darkening. "Did I say that?" Without bothering with her answer, he continued, "Does that assuage your curiosity?"

She grinned. "Not by a long shot. But for now . . ."

Sylar shot her another deathly glare, hoping to dissuade any further questioning. Leigha shrugged, tilting her lips into a non-threatening smile.

"Yes."

* * *

A/N: I continue to enjoy reading your thoughts on this story. I'm now over 100 reviews, and it makes me extremely happy.

I have a few ideas for a title for this, but nothing seems quite right. You authors know what I'm talking about. I'll gladly take your suggestions; the one who comes up with the most fitting title will get lots of internet hugs and a public thank-you in my next chapter. Thanks for your help!

Please review!!!


	22. Holiday Cheer

The first thing Shadow noticed when she forced her eyes to open on Christmas morning was the fresh-fallen snow piled on the ledge just outside the window. The smell of breakfast quickly followed at a close second.

She groaned, slowly dragging herself upright. Her stomach seemed abnormally huge, especially since she had taken to sleeping on her side. Peter had informed her that it was safest for the baby and would probably make her back feel better. Shadow had yet to feel the evidence of that, but trusted his judgment anyway. She carefully stepped out of bed and lumbered over to the frosted pane of the window.

Outside, the world was as silent as it was beautiful. Fresh drifts of snow lay undisturbed on the sidewalks, with snowflakes – crystallized and carefully designed – still floating down from Heaven. Overhead, thin, dark clouds layered thick, blocking the sky, but over the silhouettes of the buildings a distinct line of reds and oranges shone through on the horizon. Not a perfect Christmas morning, but close. It was definitely an improvement on the last few years.

She absentmindedly rubbed her palm over the swell of her stomach. No one could possibly miss the tell-tale pregnancy bump now, as evidenced on the rare occasions when she was taken out of the house to shop or simply walk about. Shadow could perfectly diagram the exchange: women would notice her, flick their eyes down to her abdomen, then raise their gaze and smile brightly. She always tried to smile back. Yes, she was happy with her baby. One crucial component was missing, as it had from the beginning, but Sylar's absence had become almost normal to her. A dull ache that never quite seemed to fade; it wasn't painful anymore . . . just there. She sighed, hugging herself.

_I will love you_, she thought down to her baby. _I will love you so much . . . you will never feel unwanted, I promise you. I already love you, actually. How strange is that? I love you, baby._

A loud disturbance from the kitchen drew Shadow's attention. She groaned – no doubt Thomas, trying to make a passing meal with edible food. Her brother was no cook, that was for sure. Cautiously, she wove her way around the bed and past the small, artificial Christmas tree which had been welcomed into her apartment at Peter's insistence – for the first time, she noticed the small pile of colorfully wrapped presents with her name scribbled across the paper. The voices in the kitchen were louder now; two voices, Shadow noted, her curiosity mounting. She peered around the doorframe.

Thomas and Peter (_I should have guessed_, she thought wryly) both stood over the stove, gazing into a frying pan with looks of intense concentration upon their faces. Peter reached out to take the handle from Thomas, who snatched it away.

"I know what I'm doing!" he protested.

Peter snorted. "Yeah, sure. You're burning the batter! C'mon, hand it over, I'll show you how it's done . . ."

Thomas frowned. "What do you know about cooking?" he demanded.

"More than you. Seriously, making pancakes? You're doing it wrong!"

"This is how Fae likes her pancakes!"

"Burnt? Or raw? Besides, how do you know? When was the last time you made anything for her?"

Shadow decided to intervene. "All right, Martha Stewart and Rachel Rae, I think whatever you've done so far is good enough."

The men startled so badly that the half-made pancake jumped slightly, folding on top of itself and meshing into a mutated semi-circle. They turned to look at her, hiding their surprise with dazzling smiles.

"Merry Christmas!" they chorused together.

Shadow rolled her eyes. "Did you guys rehearse that or what? Honestly. You two are spending too much time together."

Peter and Thomas exchanged a bewildered glance and immediately leapt back from each other. Shadow chuckled. "Have you managed to cook something eatable?"

Ten minutes later, the three of them lounged in the living room, plates filled with bacon, eggs, and toast. Shadow was already on her second plate.

"Eating for two is such hard work," she complained even as she shoveled another egg into her mouth.

"Yeah, that's exactly what it looks like," Thomas commented wryly. "Such hard work."

"Shut up. When you have a baby, you get to talk," Shadow muttered around a strip of bacon.

Peter laughed. "So, which one's Martha Stewart?"

"Definitely you," she replied.

Thomas furrowed his brow. "Who's Martha Stewart?"

"TV show host from back in the day."

He groaned. "Fae, have you been watching the History channel again?"

"I'm bored," she defended herself. "I don't have anything to do except sit around and wait for this baby to pop."

"That's nice," Peter rolled his eyes. "How about if you and I go for a walk after presents, hm?"

Shadow mock-gasped. "No way! Walk? Like, out of the building? Aw, Peter, you shouldn't have!"

"Funny," he remarked, but couldn't quite conceal his good-natured smile. "After you open presents. We're still waiting on some guests."

She looked up, surprised. "Who else is coming?"

"Just Detective Michaels and Claire. They both had gifts for you, so I invited them to come over for a gathering of sorts."

"That was thoughtful."

"I do have my moments."

Thomas rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Such warmth. Feels like Christmas."

* * * * * *

_Bang. Bang. BANG!_

"Oi! Wake up!"

Sylar turned his face into the pillow and growled, letting a stream of curses escape. _What the hell?_

"Don't make me come in there!"

He slowly raised his head up, dimly registering the voice in his brain. He blinked.

"Leigha?"

"Yeah, that'd be me. Get up, Sylar! Honestly!"

Sylar lazily let his eyes drift to the kitchen and telekinetically hurled a plate at the door. It shattered, ceramic pieces scattering over the floor. He heard a surprised yelp from the other side of the wall and grimly smiled. _Serves her right._

"That's cute. Real cute. C'mon, breakfast is getting cold!"

"Go away," he mumbled, yanking the sheets over his head. A second later, he heard the door click open and the muted sound of footsteps on the floor.

"Nice place. Definitely not my kind of establishment, but hey, whatever works for you."

Sylar bolted upright, glaring at the redhead woman standing next to the bed. "How the hell did you get in here?" he hissed.

Leigha grinned. "Picked the lock. Not that hard. If you're not spending money, you aren't going to get very good security, Sylar." She eyed him. "Then again, you're probably really good at dispatching intruders all on your own."

"That can include you."

She smirked and dangled a brown paper bag in front of him. "Ah, but I brought you breakfast. That must count for something."

Sylar grunted and reached for a shirt, not liking the way her eyes rested on his bare torso. It made him uncomfortable to have people examine him. "What's the occasion?" he asked sarcastically.

Leigha dropped onto the end of the bed, glancing at him curiously. "Christmas. Didn't you know?"

He looked up, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face. Christmas? As in, December 25th? Already? Sylar did some quick mental math. That made it about four months since he had left New York. Oddly enough, the time had seemed to pass so slowly at the time, but now it practically felt like a blur. He rolled his neck, cracking some of the bones. It hadn't been too bad, then. He was surviving. So, he had to assume, were the ones he ran from.

Fine, he had admitted to himself at last, he was running. He didn't want to be in New York with – he forced himself to think her name – Shadow. Not when she felt toward him the way she did. It would be impossible for him to reciprocate, and he had promised not to hurt her. Obviously he had had to leave.

Leigha was looking at him curiously. "Hey. Remember me?" Sylar slowly returned her gaze, just in time to catch a breakfast sandwich wrapped in wax paper. She rummaged around in the bag, pulling out her own meal.

"Sorry it isn't homemade, but I burn everything I try to make anyway. I figured I'd skip that step and just go straight to fast food." She bit into her sandwich, savoring the egg and bacon, closing her eyes in bliss. "God's greasy gift to mankind."

Sylar nodded silently, chewing, still wrapped up in his thoughts. Leigha cocked her head.

"What's up? Usually you aren't this contemplative."

"Thinking."

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Mind if I pry?"

"Always."

"Ah, well, you know me. What's on your mind?"

"New York."

Leigha stilled slightly. "New York? Is that where you came from?"

"Yes."

She quietly ate another bite. "Is she there?" she wondered softly.

Sylar didn't answer, but stared at the opposite wall with dark eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked instead.

Leigha shrugged. "It's Christmas. No one should be alone on Christmas."

Sylar snorted. "I'm sure someone else is out there who would appreciate the company a whole lot more."

"I want to be here."

"You have so much damned persistence."

"Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?"

"It is."

"Only to you," she countered. "Besides, you can't throw me out now. Not only did I bring you breakfast, I brought a present for you as well." She smirked at him.

Sylar paused and pierced her with his stare. "You got me a Christmas present?" he asked in disbelief.

"Mm-hm."

"Why?" he wondered incredulously. "You hardly even know me."

Leigha raised one shoulder and dropped it. "I have this thing. A condition, if you will. I do things out of the goodness of my heart." She met his stare evenly, eyes sparkling. "You should try it sometime. I doubt it would kill you."

"Better not to risk it, though."

She chuckled. "I like that. You have a sense of humor, Sylar, twisted though it may be. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Told me that I'm twisted? Many, many times. Told me that I have a sense of humor?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, right."

Leigha leaned over the edge of the bed and picked up a package from the floor. "Well, then, at least I'm first in something." She tossed the wrapped box to Sylar, who caught it easily. He lifted an eyebrow. "Open it."

"Why should I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please?"

Sylar sighed heavily, as though she were making him perform some impossibly difficult task, and cautiously unwrapped the paper from the box. His fingers quickly unfolded the cardboard edges and he lifted the top off. Inside, nestled in festive-colored ribbons, was a watch. The brand said 'Omega;' the wristband was sleek and black, the face set precisely with multiple time indicators, roman numerals boldly positioned about the rounded edge.

He glanced up, staring at Leigha with narrowed eyes. She looked rather pleased with herself.

"What is this?"

Leigha smiled broadly. "A watch. Duh. An Omega Constellation Double Eagle, to be exact." Noticing his contorted face, she held up her hands defensively. "Blame the ability. The first man you ever killed was killed in a watch shop. It was yours. I thought it might mean more to you than some stupid calendar with pictures of different beaches every month." She giggled. "God knows I hate them."

Sylar reigned in the anger simmering inside and studied the watch a bit closer. It had been crafted well and appeared expensive. He briefly wondered how she was able to afford such an object, but the thought slipped away. Yes, it was a good watch, however . . .

"Running one-eighth of a second too slow," he commented, gently caressing the curve of the face.

Leigha chuckled; Sylar raised his gaze, surprised. "You will never cease to impress me," she smiled.

Sylar frowned. "I didn't get you anything."

She raised her eyebrows, lips quirking. "Would you have gotten me something?"

He shifted. "I might have."

"Ah, well. I wasn't expecting anything anyway. You didn't even know it was Christmas!" She tilted her head, eyes thoughtful. "You can give me something, though."

"Within reason."

"I think it's reasonable enough. I just want a name."

"Ha." His face had regained its constant edge of seriousness. "Her name, I suppose?"

"Reasonable enough."

"You're treading where you have no business treading."

"I'm not dead yet."

"Yet being the key word."

"Please, Sylar. Just give me this, and I'll lay off. All right? I don't want a full name with date of birth and social security number, just her first name is all."

He studied her. "You'll stop asking questions?"

"For a while. You can't blame me for being curious."

"Oh yes I can."

Leigha sighed. "Just her name."

Sylar paused, his eyes becoming slightly unfocused. Leigha watched as the barest flicker of a smile crossed his lips. He breathed the name, almost reverently.

"Shadow."

* * * * * *

"Ugh. This is not a walk. This is a waddle."

Peter laughed aloud. "You were so excited for this, Shadow. I'm not carrying you back either, so just swallow your pride," he grinned.

"Now there's a mental image." Shadow glanced up at the gently falling snow. "You know, this is probably the best Christmas I've had in a while."

"I'm glad you liked your presents."

"I really do." Shadow pumped her fist in the air. "Hooray for maternity clothes!"

Peter chuckled. "That wasn't all you got, you know. What about my gift?"

She sighed happily. "I love it, Peter, I really do. A framed photo of my first ultrasound. Only a mother could really appreciate something like that."

He nodded. "I hope you can excuse Claire. I know she's being a little awkward around you . . ."

Shadow shook her head, smiling at the memory of Claire hesitantly asking to touch her stomach, then mumbling something about dinner and rushing away. "It's no big deal. She's really sweet about the whole thing, really." A slight frown graced her brow. "I get the feeling she doesn't entirely approve, though."

"She's upset with Sylar, not you."

She made a face. Peter noticed and stopped, turning to face her. He lifted up her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "What is it?"

Shadow shrugged. "I just wish he had been here. I know I should hate him, but I can't. This all feels very . . . half-lived without him. He should be here to see the sonograms, pick out baby clothes . . . you know?" She met his gaze, eyes soft and vulnerable.

"I don't entirely understand your ability to accept him and his flaws so readily," Peter said, mouth drawn into a tight line, "but it's only natural that you'd want him here for the pregnancy." He paused. "He might still come back, Shadow."

She sighed and began to walk again. "I can hope."

"You should continue to."

Shadow bit her lip. "I'm glad I have you, Peter." He shot her a quizzical glance. "I don't know how I could have gotten this far with only Thomas next to me. I mean, yeah, he's my brother . . ."

"No, I know what you mean. He's not the best stand-in parent figure – period." He shot her a quick glance. "No offense to Tom, of course."

"Yeah, I know. But he's – whoop!" Shadow yelped as she slipped on an icy patch on the sidewalk. Her arms flailed wildly; she grabbed Peter's arm just as he caught her. She breathed heavily and gave him a relieved smile. "Thanks."

Peter nodded grimly. "This is dangerous. We should go back."

Normally Shadow would argue with him, but she was feeling tired and only allowed him to turn them around, toward the direction of the apartment. They walked silently after that, Peter holding onto Shadow's hand to prevent her from almost falling again.

Shadow was just about to climb the first of the steps up to the apartment complex when she stopped abruptly, gasping loudly. Peter spun her to face him.

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at him with an expression of wonderment. "She kicked," Shadows said softly.

Peter's face softened. "What?"

"The baby. She kicked, just now. Here . . ." Shadow grabbed Peter's arm, unzipping her winter coat with the other hand. She laid his palm on her belly, a small smile on her lips. She felt the odd flutter again. "There! Did you feel that?"

Peter locked gazes with Shadow and grinned. "Yeah, I did," he replied softly. The little jolt came again. He saw the raw joy in the eyes of the mother-to-be and patted the swell lightly. The life inside kicked back and Shadow laughed. Peter took her hand and squeezed.

"Merry Christmas, Shadow."

* * *

A/N: Aww! A little fluff. I promise that there's some more intense stuff coming up. I also apologize for the delay in updating – between my other story and a songfic drabble I put up, and some traveling that distracted me for a bit, I know it's been a while. But I hope this makes up for it!

I feel like reviews are dropping off, although I continue to get a staggering number of hits. I know you guys are reading, but there's a second part to this – Review! I appreciate it and it fuels the Muse. Please let me know what you think!!


	23. Memories

The New Year passed by unremarkably. Thomas and Peter insisted that they have a conventional gathering to ring in the year, and Shadow had relented almost without argument. She felt a little fussed over with all the babysitting (disguised as attention) but it was nice to celebrate in the traditional manner, versus alone in the apartment as in the past.

The get-together had been small; Thomas had come as her "date" and Peter brought Claire along. Their party was pleasant enough, if not a little awkward. The two immortals drank champagne freely, never even feeling buzzed, seeming to enjoy their private joke of regenerating liver tissue. The pregnant teen poured herself a glass or two of sparkling juice just like every other year, her brother drinking the same in a show of support that Shadow greatly appreciated.

Seeing Peter and Claire snuggling together and acting so flirtatious made Shadow ache and further impressed her want for the father of her unborn baby. It used to be that she and Sylar expressed themselves that way, but Shadow tried not to dwell on him that night. She couldn't help but shoot envious looks their way, though. At twelve strokes of midnight, the couple kissed chastely – which didn't prevent Shadow from experiencing a stab of jealousy. Thomas pressed his lips against his sister's temple, murmuring New Year congratulations and telling her that he was going to be a better brother and a fantastic uncle.

Shadow had smiled and replied that she already knew that.

It was now mid-January and the first big blizzard of the year blew in with a vengeance, effectively closing streets and blacking out whole city blocks. Shadow huddled in her bed, buried under layers of blankets that proved very effective in keeping her warm. She slept for a long while, using the subconscious as an escape.

In the early afternoon, Shadow was startled out of sleep by heavy pounding on her door. She groggily lifted her head, looking toward the door.

". . . ello?" she called.

"Shadow? It's Peter."

She groaned, waving her hand carelessly, letting the darkness open the door while she remained in bed. The door swung open and Peter stepped inside, shaking his hair out and causing water droplets to spray across the floor. Shadow ducked under her comforter, forcefully jamming her eyes closed.

"Cold out there," Peter remarked, smirking at the lump in the bed.

"Blizzard," Shadow's voice rasped back. After a long pause, her bleary face poked out, facing Peter. "How did you get here?"

"Flew."

She groaned. "Of course."

"You should be grateful," Peter pretended to sound offended. "It isn't easy to get through a snowstorm, nor is it comfortable. Freezing precipitation on your face? Yeah, not fun."

"No one asked you to come."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Did you think I would leave you to defend for yourself during a whiteout, and five months pregnant too?" He rolled his eyes. "Thanks for your overwhelming confidence, Shadow."

"Not a problem," she replied wryly. She sat up slowly and stretched leisurely. "Ahhh…" she sighed heavily.

"Feeling all right?" Peter asked, shrugging off his jacket and throwing over the side of the couch.

Shadow shrugged. "My back's a little sore. This extra weight is beginning to become a strain; other than that, it's nothing I can't handle." She grimaced. "I'm still not quite used to the mood swings. I broke down into tears the other day watching a hospital drama on television – so, so annoying."

Peter chuckled. "Well, just to make you feel better . . . I brought popcorn."

Shadow's face split into a wide grin. "My favorite!"

"So I've heard." He headed into the kitchen. "Stay in bed; I'll make it for you," Peter called back. "Are you sure you're sleeping? You look exhausted."

"I think Ally's training for a marathon. Always kicking now. She wakes me up sometimes, but I didn't think it was affecting me this much."

Peter reappeared in the doorway, staring at Shadow with intense, sparkling eyes. "What did you call her?"

Shadow blushed, realizing she had let that slip. "Ally. It's short for Allison, of course – my mother's name. Allison Montgomery."

"What, no middle names yet?" Peter chuckled, half-kidding.

She remained silent for a few moments. "Gabrielle," Shadow whispered; Peter only just heard her. "Allison Gabrielle Montgomery."

Peter walked over and perched himself on the edge of the bed. She refused to meet his eyes.

"Beautiful," he said softly. "Perfect for your baby. But what if it's a boy?"

Shadow shrugged. "I haven't decided yet, but I am thinking about Thomas as a possibility." She smirked at the look on Peter's face. "Don't tell him. I'm really set on the idea that she's a girl, though."

Peter nodded and smiled. "Named for your mother, huh? You've never spoken about your family."

She seemed to pale slightly. "Yeah, well . . . it's not a happy tale." She leaned back into the pillows, resting on her elbows. "I accidentally murdered my mom at sixteen."

Peter couldn't stop the shocked expression that crossed his face. Shadow pretended not to notice.

"That was the first manifestation of my ability, and obviously I couldn't control it." Just like she couldn't control the tears flowing down her face, enhanced by the damned hormones coursing in her bloodstream. Shadow rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, blinking furiously. She swore under her breath and swiped at her face with her arm.

Peter reached out and gently took her arm, using his other hand to carefully catch each teardrop on his finger. Their eyes locked as he wiped her pain from her face, brushing lightly over her skin. Her tears fell slower, dripping like crystalline gems, before ceasing altogether. He cupped the curve of her jaw and swallowed.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

Shadow shook her head. "You didn't know." She sighed. "Anyway, my father and I haven't spoken to each other since then either. But that's my doing. I ran from home after that night, and even now I'm so scared that he blames me. Rightly so, of course. I can't face it, though. I don't know what I'd do if he rejected me. Not knowing is better, for me. I've already lost one parent – I wouldn't survive if I lost the other. As long as there's some hope . . ."

"What happened after Sylar left?"

She met his eyes steadily, but he could see the hurt in them. "I cried for about two weeks straight. I had to force myself to eat, and that was only every other day. Yes, I know what it means," she added. "I have rejection issues. Obviously."

Shadow looked thoughtful, her eyes getting a far-away glaze. "I wouldn't have thought it at the time, but I think becoming pregnant was the best thing for me. The realization that I had another life to be responsible for caused me to take better care of myself, whether I wanted to or not." A faint smile touched her lips. "And you and Thomas, of course. You two are my support system."

"I'm happy to, Shadow," Peter told her gently. "You know that."

"Even in a blizzard?"

He grinned and dropped his hand from her cheek. "Yes. Even in a blizzard."

A subtle aroma floated through the air. "How does popcorn sound?" he asked her.

Shadow's eyes lit up. "Heavenly."

* * * * * *

"We unofficially met each other in a back alley. She was running one way; I was running the other way. I didn't know she had an ability – she just stared at me when she saw me. I went to move her out of the way, and suddenly everything goes dark and silent."

"Sensory deprivation?"

Sylar glanced over at the redhead. They were back on the beach, plopped down in the sand, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.

"Yes," he answered. "I believe it was completely reactionary on her part. Consequently, I plowed myself headfirst into a brick wall."

Leigha let a giggle escape her lips. "That's so great. Not for you, I mean," she backtracked, seeing the murderous glint in his eyes, "but you spend your entire life trying to be in control, and suddenly this girl comes along and unknowingly takes it all away. It just seems peculiar to me is all."

"If that's the word you want to use. Anyway, after I knock myself out, she takes me to her apartment and that's where I wake up." A smile unknowingly settled on his mouth. "Damn, I still remember the first thing she said to me. By this time I figured out that she had an ability – I could hear it, simmering in her brain. I'm standing over her, and she appears to be asleep –"

"Creeper."

He glowered at her. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Sorry," Leigha said, not at all sounding like she meant it.

"'Don't even think about it.' She knew I was there, and that's all she said. Then she opened her eyes." He shook his head. "Dark chocolate brown, and so _challenging_. She called me by my name, which surprised me a little. Usually, people are running and screaming if they know who I am."

"Which isn't all that surprising," Leigha smirked.

Sylar continued, ignoring her interjected statements. "She offered me breakfast. I don't even think she was scared. The only word that came to mind to describe her was 'remarkable.' Then I mentioned her ability. That was the thing she was afraid of. I could see it in those eyes of hers. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew it had broken her somehow."

"Ah, yes. Your ability. Quite handy, that."

Sylar closed his eyes, remembering the first touch of his skin to hers. "I don't know how it happened, but I felt a connection. I shared in her pain. It wasn't exactly empathy, so I couldn't absorb her ability like that, but I hadn't had anything like it in a long time. And then . . ."

"You fell in love."

Sylar's dark eyes snapped open and he rounded on Leigha. "Absolutely not," he growled.

Leigha shrugged. "You took her then, sure. But you fell in love with her, Sylar, and you can't deny it."

"I did not fall in love with Shadow. There. I just denied it."

She rolled her eyes. "You sound so childish. It's not a bad thing, you know. Oh, wait. Would it ruin your big, bad reputation?"

"You don't know anything," he spat angrily, eyes blazing.

"Oh, please. Why do you think you haven't been able to kill anyone since you left her? Since you promised her you wouldn't? Obviously you care about her. Obviously more than you'd like to admit. Tell me this, Sylar." She tilted her head, studying him intensely.

"Why did you leave her in the first place?"

Sylar swallowed back his retort, his heart clenching. He knew why he left. He remembered that night very well and relived it almost every night. But he couldn't very well tell that to Leigha. She'd think it meant something, when it meant absolutely nothing.

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does. Otherwise you wouldn't have left."

"Drop it, Leigha."

"I won't stop bugging you about it until you give me a good answer."

His eyes went impossibly darker. "You know what they say about curiosity."

"Yeah, yeah, but you haven't killed me yet."

"No. You got the story out of me, and that's all you're going to get." He stood abruptly, brushing the sand from his clothing and stalking inland, muttering obscenities not-so-silently, most of them directed toward Leigha.

She watched him go. His temper tantrums were commonplace by now; she was used to him walking away. He'd be back. He always returned.

Leigha turned her gaze to the fiery red sun on the horizon and smirked. She enjoyed the particular vehemence with which he denied his true feelings toward this girl Shadow. She wasn't fooled. The look in his eyes, the accidental smile that he had . . . anyone who saw Sylar when he talked about Shadow would be able to tell the extent of his love.

And love it was, no matter what he said otherwise.

She smirked. Shadow was a very lucky girl; Leigha hoped that she felt the same way about Sylar as he did for her. Her smile faded slightly when she remembered the look on his face when she had asked why he had left New York. She really wanted to know about that.

She took out cell phone and palmed it, tilting her head contemplatively. The number he had called in the Sandbar was still in the memory. This person he had called . . . maybe she could get some information from them.

A month, she decided. If he didn't tell her in a month, she'd do some searching of her own. Leigha grinned into the sunset.

_I always wanted to play matchmaker._

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope I'm actually writing to people who are patient enough to wait around for my updates when life gets in the way. I moved into college and have been getting into the routine of classes and such, which unfortunately leaves very little time for writing. :( But I'm back now! Hopefully I'll be able to update a little more regularly.

As always, I value your thoughts and opinions on my work! Please read and review, even if it's just a "Stop taking so long to update!" It's appreciated!


	24. Not Exactly the Day of Love

Shadow breathed softly on the windowpane, watching the glass canvas appear before her eyes. Carefully, she drew a small heart and the initials A-G-M below it. The image vanished rather quickly, claimed by the frozen land of the outside.

She sighed, shifting her position in the windowseat. The globe that was her stomach swelled in front of her, even as she protectively wrapped her arms around it.

"Allison," she whispered to the empty air, testing the name on her tongue. "Allison Gabrielle Montgomery."

Ever since she had decided on what to call her baby, Shadow had become surer of it by the day. Her daughter would be known as the product of two people, and it would be evidenced in her name. She tilted her head back, resting it against the wall and staring out to the world.

It was a bad day for Shadow. Especially today, the painful reminder that Sylar failed to be a component of her life saturated the very air. She snorted to herself; it sounded so dramatic when she worded the situation that way. That's exactly how it seemed, though. Shadow glanced over to the bedside table, torn between crying and smiling. The dozen roses were a vivid red, each petal fresh and perfect, the thorns thoughtfully removed from the stem.

Shadow certainly knew that she had scared the deliveryman when he had shown up at her doorstep carrying the flowers – she had promptly broken down into hysterics before taking the vase from his hands and closing the door on his shocked face. For a brief, wild moment, she thought that maybe they had been from her ex-lover. The card, sweet as it was, disappointed her greatly when she saw her brother's signature and her heart had constricted.

She averted her gaze out the window again, darkly appreciating the overcast sky threatening more snow.

"Happy freaking Valentine's Day."

* * * * * *

Leigha toyed with the cell phone in her hands, watching it dance between her fingertips. Despite her best (persistently annoying) efforts, she still hadn't gotten Sylar's reason for leaving New York behind. She was seriously considering making the call to this mysterious person today, but the timing could be taken very, very badly.

She sighed, digging her bare toes into the sand. The air was cold and she tugged her jacket closer around her frame. Sylar would be coming by soon – it had become routine for the two of them, always meeting at the same place on the beach, halfway between the sidewalk and the water.

February 14. Leigha hoped their meeting wouldn't be awkward. She had gotten him a card, one of those cheesy cartoon characters with a stupid saying that first-graders traded each other in class. The card was intentional. Maybe she came on a little strongly sometimes, but Leigha didn't have any true interest in Sylar. She could admit that he was cute, but her adventures in love had ended a while ago and she didn't feel the need to try again anytime soon.

It would be pointless to pursue him anyway; the attachment he felt to Shadow transcended any efforts that would have been made on her behalf. But he was still being stubborn about her in a way that Leigha couldn't understand and he seemed almost scared to even think about going back to her.

And that's where she came in, with the digging a little for information. Hopefully it wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass.

As if on cue, the sound of shifting sand reached her ears and moments later Sylar flung himself down to the ground. He nodded a greeting.

"And a fine day to you too," Leigha smirked.

"Who says?" he grumbled.

She knew then that the day was hitting him harder than usual, too.

"You could always show up at her door with the hallway filled with flowers," she said quietly, not looking at him but completely serious.

"I don't love her," Sylar replied automatically. He thought that the denials would be easier over time, but was finding that not to be the case. The rebuff sounded hollow in his ears. Before he had run away, he remembered considering those three oh-so-simple, infinitely complex words and what it would mean for his life.

He knew Shadow's view on things, even if she didn't. Perhaps that frightened him the most. What could happen, if he ever went back to find her. He wasn't ready for that. Bring on the people who could lob cars with a thought, even the killer who incapacitated his victims with sensory deprivation. But commitment?

Hell no.

Leigha sighed. Always the same response. She reached over and held the card out. "Here."

Sylar's dark eyes glared at the brightly-colored piece of folded cardboard. He slowly extended his hand and snatched it from her grasp.

She suppressed a smirk. "No need for the suspicion. It's just a card."

He opened it and read its contents, allowing himself a brief smile. The line was so cheesy he didn't resist. Sylar looked over to Leigha. "A child's valentine's day card. Cute, Leigha."

"I do try my best," she grinned.

His intense stare caught her by surprise. "Don't make a bigger deal out of this than it is. Concerning Shadow, I mean."

"I just don't get it, Sylar. When you talk about her, you seem happy. Happier than you ever are when we just hang out. Something was going right, and then – poof."

"As much as I enjoy your choice of words, I assure you it was a little more complicated than that."

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Don't." He sighed. "I have something to do. Thanks for the card."

"Sylar –"

"Same place tomorrow?"

Leigha looked out over the water. "Yeah, Sylar. Sure thing."

He retreated back inland, the sand giving way beneath his heavy feet. Leigha palmed the cell phone again. Being content with half-answers wasn't like her.

Her fingers began to move.

Menu.

Recent Calls.

Dialed.

There – the long distance call to New York. The digits glowed brightly on the screen. Leigha took a deep breath.

_Down the rabbit hole._

She jammed the phone to her ear and hit send.

* * * * * *

Peter had just reached the steps to Shadow's apartment building when his phone started screeching its obnoxious ringtone. He knew that today would be difficult for the girl, being alone the way she was, and with the baby.

He extracted the phone from his pocket and glanced at it carelessly; he froze when he saw the number. It was long-distance, the number that had called weeks ago. He slammed the phone to the side of his head.

"Sylar?"

"Don't I just wish," replied an airy female voice through the line. "That would make everything so much easier, hm?"

"Who are you?" Peter demanded, sinking to the steps.

"I'm Leigha. Sylar and I are – well, I wouldn't say friends, but we hang out and talk quite a bit." He heard her sigh. "He doesn't know I'm calling you. I don't think he'd like it very much." She paused. "How's Shadow?"

Peter was surprised. "He's told you about Shadow?"

"I pestered it out of him." Peter could hear the smirk in her tone. "It took some doing."

"She's . . . all right, I guess."

"Today's pretty difficult for her too, huh?"

"I haven't been able to check yet -- I'm actually going to see her now. When you say 'too,' do you mean that Sylar isn't handling the day of love very well?"

"He acts like he usually acts. I can tell, though. He's too stubborn and blind to admit it to himself that he loves this girl, but I know otherwise."

"Sylar loves her?" Peter sounded shocked. What a development. It seemed as though this Leigha person was handling Sylar the same way Peter was looking after Shadow.

"He doesn't say so, but it's in his eyes when he talks about her." Leigha hesitated. "Look, I called for a reason. Sylar left New York some months back, but he won't tell me why. You don't happen to know, do you?"

"No," Peter's voice hardened. "One morning Shadow woke up and he was gone. Just a day after they had come by my place, in fact. He made that promise to her and then just left –"

"The promise about not killing anyone?"

"Yes. Did he tell you about that too?"

"Surprisingly. You can tell Shadow that he's kept good on that promise, by the way." Leigha sighed heavily. "Damn. I was hoping you would know about that."

"No."

"Back to pestering, I guess. He's really reluctant to talk about it, though. I appreciate you talking to me . . . what'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Peter."

"Peter. Nice. Thanks. Call me if you find anything out, all right?"

"Sure, I guess."

Leigha nodded, even though the man on the other end of the connection couldn't see her. "Good talking to you, Peter."

"Wait –"

The line went dead.

* * * * * *

Leigha glared out at the water. What a bust. Well, she knew who he kept in contact with, anyway. Peter. Sounded like a nice guy. Multiple abilities, like Sylar, but to a lesser extent. She shook her head. Sometimes her ability actually came in handy. She could tell that he cared about Shadow, and he had the protection to keep her safe.

She wasn't sure if he had tried to say something else at the end, but she had hung up too soon. Leigha shrugged. If it was so important he'd call her back. She had some thinking to do – she'd have to come up with a new plan of attack to get the information out of the source.

* * * * * *

Peter swore. Couldn't someone stay on the line long enough to inform them about Shadow's pregnancy? He pocketed the phone with a sigh. At least he had someone to get in contact with. Leigha sounded pretty close to Sylar – closer than Peter had ever gotten to the other man, anyway.

Shadow was still sitting at the window when Peter knocked on the door. Without glancing away, she called out, "Come in, Peter."

He entered the apartment with an amused smile. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else?"

"Are you saying I hang around here too much?"

"Maybe." Shadow shrugged. "Not that it'll stop you."

"Right you are." Peter walked up behind the girl and gingerly placed his hands on her shoulders. "How you doing, Shadow?"'

"Fine, Peter."

He sighed. "You don't have to lie to me, Shadow. I know you must be missing Sylar."

"Don't you have your own significant other to pamper?" she spat out venomously. She didn't want his pity – not today.

Peter cringed. "She understands that your well-being is more important right now."

"Go away, Peter."

"Brooding doesn't look good on you."

"Away."

"So you're just going to sit in the windowseat staring at nothing all day?"

"Don't make me throw you out."

He sighed. "You can't shut me out, Shadow. I care about you too much."

"He doesn't care." Her voice broke slightly, but her gaze stayed locked outside. "Why should you?"

"Ah." Peter moved to sit opposite her in the window seat. "Is that what this is about?" He reached out and gently stroked her arm. "He does care about you, Shadow. But he's just like you – too stubborn to do anything to change the facts."

"How would you know?"

He smiled. "I heard it through a source."

She turned her head somewhat. "What source?"

"It doesn't matter right now. He does care, though."

Shadow remained silent for a long time. Eventually, "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

A smile touched her lips. "Thanks, Peter."

"You're very welcome, Shadow." He stood and turned away. "Now, what –" He stopped abruptly, concerned by the loud gasp from behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder.

Shadow was sitting up straight, her eyes wide and terrified. A faint aura of shadows surrounded her body. Her gaze collided with Peter's.

"Thomas," she managed to choke out. "Oh, my God, no!"

Peter swiftly knelt in front of her. "What's wrong, Shadow? What's happening?"

"That special!" she nearly screamed. "The one killing everyone! Thomas . . . no!"

"Where?" he demanded.

Her eyes unfocused. "Five blocks east. The alley next to the Jamieson Apartments."

Peter quickly unlatched the window and shoved it open. "Stay here, Shadow. I'll come back and get you later. Do you hear me?" He made sure he saw the understanding in her eyes. "Stay here."

He leapt out the window and immediately floated, airborne, before taking off in the direction Shadow had indicated. She started sobbing. A series of kicks let her know that little Allison felt her distress.

"God, no . . . not him . . . please don't take him . . . not my brother."

* * *

A/N: Hooray for a quick update! I know I don't usually leave you readers with a cliffhanger, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. I promise everything will be explained in the next chapter (no, Shadow is not suddenly telepathic with her brother) and hopefully it'll be up later this week.

On a separate note, I have had 550 hits on this story in the past week. I believe four of you actually took the time to review. If you love my story, let me know. If you hate my story, let me know. If you want to let me know how evil my cliffie is, I encourage you to do so. The point is . . . REVIEW! It makes me infinitely happy. Think of it as my birthday gift (I'm one year older – yay!) from you. Please?


	25. Looking for Trouble aka It Ends Now

"You should go home. Sometime this year would be good."

Shadow wearily glanced toward the door, not surprised to see Peter leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, and a frown on his face. She suppressed a sigh. He came in here every day to see her, and almost always said the same thing, or something along the lines thereof. She avoided his eyes and reverted her gaze back to hospital bed, watching her brother breathe rhythmically.

It had been a little over a month since Thomas was brought to the hospital. Shadow had increasingly spent more and more time at his bedside, prompting Peter to request another bed for the room so the girl could get some decent sleep; his argument about the health of her baby had been more than enough to persuade the staff. The month passed slowly, the days blurring together in Shadow's mind. Her hands unconsciously clenched the bed sheets as she remembered the events that had occurred on Valentine's Day.

* * * * * *

February 14

Thomas ambled up the street, his stride not having any particular rhythm. A slight smile seemed permanently fixed upon his face; he couldn't remember the last time he had felt such happiness. Before the accident back in Michigan, he was sure of that. But somehow his sister's little bump – growing bigger every day – made the days brighter, his mood lighter.

An uncle. The concept was still foreign in his mind, but it was a comfortable unfamiliarity. He could already picture tiny toes and fingers, beautiful golden eyes wide and staring back into his own. His smile widened. Not long now . . . just over three months to go. He couldn't wait to hold that little baby in his arms.

And he was so proud of Fae for handling her situation the way that she was. She had accepted the responsibility like an adult and understood the weight of that responsibility. Earlier in the week he had looked at her – really looked at her for the first time in months, if not years, and realized that his kid sister had grown up before his eyes and he hadn't even noticed. She held herself like a woman (a pregnant woman, but woman nonetheless) and her sharp eyes sparkled with maturity.

He shook his head. When had that happened?

Thomas was musing on this when the world went dark and silent, and he collapsed in a numb heap to the cement.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

He woke up before long, blood roaring in his ears. He winced and attempted to bring a hand to his head, but his limbs didn't seem to be cooperating. It felt as though his body wasn't even there at all, and he was merely a consciousness existing in a plane of space. A face suddenly appeared, hovering over his, and he realized he could hear.

"Hello. You don't look confused. Not like the others. You look scared. Scared as hell." The person chuckled. "That's the normal thing to feel, I guess."

Thomas moved his eyes frantically. He knew who this was – this person with abilities. The one who taunted him as he lay helpless on the ground.

"You appear to be thinking, too. That's different. Most of them don't think. They can't even string a sentence together." The person laughed mockingly. "You can't either, though. Can't speak if you can't feel your tongue, can you?" The person tilted their head cockily. "You know, I might like to hear what you have to say, though. You do look _so_ frenzied." A smile spread across their lips, a smile that exuberated the warmth of ice. "If someone is given the chance for his last words, what would he say?"

And then Thomas was a consciousness existing in a plane of space with a tongue. A tongue with which to form words – or rather, word. One word.

"Shadow."

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

The surrounding darkness pulsed and absorbed the desperation and fear in that name, and it traveled from one dark corner to the next, between the flickering shadows, crawling up the shaded side of the apartment wall and seeped through the tiny cracks in the window panes, quickly finding the soul in the room who could interpret the silent message it carried.

Shadow stilled and sat up straight as the darkness surrounded her, gently probing into her mind. She gasped loudly as the scene unfolded and she heard her name spoken by her brother's mouth. Thomas lay incapacitated on the ground, his eyes panicked. A figure stood over him, chuckling darkly.

"Thomas," she whispered, her voice strangled. "Oh, my God, no!"

Peter dropped to his knees, grabbing for her hands. "What's wrong, Shadow? What's happening?"

"That special!" she nearly screamed. "The one killing everyone! Thomas . . . no!"

"Where?" he demanded, gripping her wrists tightly.

Her gaze unfocused, concentrating on the sight behind her eyes and the information being fed to her through shadows. "Five blocks east. The alley next to the Jamieson Apartments." She knew the area well enough.

Peter quickly unlatched the window and shoved it open, a blast of frigid winter air swirling about the apartment. He glanced back over his shoulder and forced her to hold his stare. "Stay here, Shadow. I'll come back and get you later. Do you hear me?" he nearly growled, making sure he saw the understanding in her eyes. "Stay here."

He propelled himself out the window and hovered midair for a heartbeat before taking off to the east. The buildings passed quickly and before long he reached the tell-tale blue roofs that were characteristic of the Jamieson Apartments. He hung suspended, his eyes searching out the two persons beneath; he spotted them, Thomas pulled up by his attacker, his face being mercilessly pounded. The blood already flowed freely, but Peter knew that Thomas did not feel the pain, did not see the face that mocked him, did not hear the sickening sound of flesh on flesh, did not smell the metallic sharpness, did not taste copper crimson. It was a horrible sight to witness – evil at its worst.

Peter ground his teeth. That man needed his chance to be a great uncle to that baby. Shadow needed her brother. He clenched his fists. This person would not take Thomas Montgomery. Peter fell into a dive, air rushing past his face.

"Hey!" he shouted. The person looked up, startled, fist frozen over their shoulder.

Taking advantage of the hesitation, Peter swooped in and locked his arms around Thomas's torso, ripping him from the person's grasp. He sped away, carrying the other man's dead weight, ignoring the shouts quickly fading behind. Peter grunted – the task wasn't easy. He inspected Thomas's face.

_Unconscious_, he thought. He flew towards the hospital, gripping the man tightly.

"You are not going to die," Peter whispered fiercely in his ear. "Shadow needs you. _You will not die_."

* * * * * *

Present

"He's going to pull through, Shadow. He knows there's something waiting for him here."

Shadow turned blank eyes on Peter. "Coma," she said hollowly. "Do you know what that means, Peter?"

"It means he's allowing his brain to reboot and heal itself. How would you feel if you were beaten senseless? And I use that in quite the literal sense, mind you."

She remained quiet, gazing at a point somewhere over his shoulder. "Anything from Lee yet?" she asked after a while.

Peter's mouth tightened into a line and Shadow had her answer. She sighed and turned away.

"He's working on it, Shadow. Just like always. He says that it's personal now."

"And you told him everything?"

He blew out a stream of air. "Yes. Every little detail, not that it's doing much good."

"Why didn't you take him out then?"

Peter bristled some at the accusation in her tone. "Excuse me for trying to save your brother's life, Shadow. Next time I'll go for the serial killer and let Thomas die, shall I?"

She was across the room before either of them truly realized it, swinging her fists wildly, landing a few weak blows across his chest. He reacted quickly and dodged the blows, enraging Shadow even further. She threw her entire body at him and he caught her in his arms, grasping her wrists and twirling her so that her arms were pinned. She couldn't move; Peter had effectively trapped her.

Shadow sobbed hysterically, broken sounds that sounded ripped from her chest. Peter subtly shifted his stance, relaxing into a comforting embrace. He held her as she cried, listened as she babbled incoherently and hugged her as she bawled some more.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the curve of her neck. "That was uncalled for. I'm so sorry, Shadow."

A sob wracked her body and she shuddered against him, not fighting anymore, but clinging to him as though he were her last lifeline. In a way, to Shadow, he was. What happened when everyone she ever cared about gets killed?

When she had settled down a bit, Peter made to guide her to the bed next to Thomas's. Shadow shook her head.

"No, I have to get out of this room," she whispered shakily. Her hands swiped at her face. "I'm just going for a walk."

"Let me come with you," he offered, eyes burning as he looked into hers.

Shadow took a step backward. "I can't, Peter. I need to be alone."

He nodded in understanding. "Don't strain yourself, Shadow." He gestured toward her belly. "Think of little Allison."

She left the room with a half-smile on her face. Her feet took her to the elevator and down to the lobby, and out the street. Shadow abruptly turned down the first dark alley she found.

_This ends now_, she thought viciously. _You mess with my brother, you mess with me._

_And I don't take too kindly to it._

She stayed between the buildings, hands occasionally reaching up to caress her protruding bump.

"Are you okay in there, baby?" she murmured. "I promise we're in for a long rest soon. Mommy's gotta do something first, though. It's important."

Shadow had come to the conclusion sometime over the past month. The only way these mindless killings were going to stop was if someone stronger put an end to it. After all, hadn't she theorized that if Sylar had been here the person would never have gotten farther than the one murder? He could take out anyone.

That responsibility fell to her now, it seemed. This other person, their ability only worked within the mind, where the senses presided. Shadow, though, she could create physical objects from the darkness if she so desired. She would, given the chance.

The second component of her theory was a little sketchier. It had never occurred to her before, but then there had never been a reason to think of it before. Couldn't the shadows protect her mind? Form some kind of barrier that negated that of her enemy? Shadow strongly believed that her hypothesis would prove correct, but therein lay the gamble. If she was wrong, this person would most likely kill her. Kill her baby. Her Allison Gabrielle.

Shadow's arms automatically wrapped around her belly. It had to work. It absolutely had to.

_Not my baby._

"I love you so much," she whispered to her bump and the little girl inside. "More than you even know, my baby."

"That's one I've never seen before."

Shadow whirled promptly, fighting not to lose her balance. Baby bellies tended to do that, apparently. _Damn center of gravity._ Her thoughts ceased, however, overwhelmed by shock and surprise.

"Pregnant women shouldn't wander the back alleys of New York, I should think."

Shadow only stared, pupils nearly blocking out the deep chocolate of her irises.

"You aren't going to talk? I haven't even done anything yet."

She finally found her voice. "Hell. You've got to be kidding me."

* * *

A/N: Heehee, more cliffhangers! This is a slightly shorter chapter – the showdown is up next.

Thank you to all that reviewed! It made me so happy knowing that you guys like what you're reading. Don't stop just because I acknowledged it, though. Review more! Perhaps more reviews will prompt the release of the next chapter . . . hint hint hint.


	26. Mirror, Mirror

**Warning: Some language.**

"_You aren't going to talk? I haven't even done anything yet."_

_She finally found her voice. "Hell. You've got to be kidding me."_

Shadow forced herself to snap her jaw closed. "You're a . . . girl."

A cocky smirk met her declaration. "Well done. You have correctly stated the obvious."

The other girl was younger than Shadow – she dared to estimate at sixteen. Her golden blonde hair was streaked through with mahogany and pulled back into a simple French braid, dangling down to the small of her back. Her eyes glinted maliciously, crystalline aquamarine that mirrored the waves of the Caribbean. Her delicate mouth curved into a mocking smile that looked wrong on her youthful face.

"You're the one who's been killing people off the streets?" Shadow asked, shaking her head slightly. Somehow she had expected a Sylar-esque murderer, not this . . . adolescent.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Serial killer, I believe, is the term they use." She sounded so damn proud of herself. She sighed softly. "Look, you're pregnant. Let me give you a free pass, all right? Just walk away from here. Thank your baby for getting off easy."

Shadow shook her head. "I'm staying. I have a grudge to settle."

"Do you?" intoned the girl, tilting her head.

"My brother is laying in the hospital in a coma because of you."

"Ah, yes. The one who got away." The sigh was exaggerated this time. "Damn the flying man. Just a few more minutes and I'd have one more life for my collection."

Shadow's gaze hardened. "Who are you?"

"Someone who isn't all that interested in chit chat. If you aren't going to take my very generous offer and leave . . ." The girl shrugged and stared at Shadow, narrowing her eyes, seeming to concentrate on something.

Shadow quickly willed the shadows to wrap around her mind, forming a barrier between whatever evil she faced. She silently rejoiced when she felt the stab, like a knife, attack her brain, but wasn't affected in the slightest. She locked her eyes on the girl across from her.

"No," Shadow said slowly, "believe me, we're going to talk." She summoned a shadowball to her palm and glared across the distance. "Name."

The girl eyed the shadowball with some interest and just a touch of fear. "Not important."

Shadow raised her arm threateningly. "Let me be the judge of that, hm?"

"Vyce," the girl spat. "If we're wrestling confessions out, think it's only fair that I'm offered the same courtesy."

"My name is Shadow," she said quietly, rolling the shadowball about in her palm. "And the name of my unborn baby – my brother's niece – her name is Allison Gabrielle."

"Beautiful," Vyce sneered. "Shadow, huh? That explains your brother's last words. Word, rather."

Shadow narrowed her eyes.

"'Shadow.' That's what he said. Thought he was already out of his mind when he spoke up."

Her fists clenched. "Don't talk about my brother like that," Shadow said through gritted teeth.

Vyce smirked. "Like what?"

"Like he doesn't matter."

"He doesn't to me."

Shadow felt another knife-like sensation attack at her brain. She rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, will you?"

The other girl scowled. "How are you doing that?"

"My ability," Shadow raised an eyebrow, indicating just how stupid she thought the question was. "I manipulate darkness and shadow."

"Still doesn't explain how you're stopping _my_ ability."

Shadow shrugged. "Well, I have to keep some of my secrets, don't I?"

Vyce snarled quietly. "You're a right bitch, you know that?"

"Yeah, _I'm_ the bitch."

Her eyes flashed darkly. "You hypocrite. You think you're so much better than I am, don't you. But we're not so different, you and I."

"I'm nothing like you," Shadow spat, her hand convulsing around the pulsing ball of dark energy. The darkness of the alley closed in around the pair, swirling anxiously.

"Oh, yeah?" Vyce smirked. "I can see the similarities, even if you can't."

"I think you're delusional. I'm not a cold-hearted murderer."

Vyce raised an eyebrow provocatively. "But you have killed."

Shadow narrowed her eyes. Vyce's statement hung in the air, and she grinned when it went undisputed.

"I knew it. It's in your eyes, you know. Subtle, but there."

"Okay, fine. It was an accident, and it hurt me badly. I'm not proud of the blood that's on my hands every day. But you . . ." Shadow growled; the darkness pressed in further. "You killed once and you haven't stopped since."

Vyce shrugged. "I like it. It's kind of satisfying to take the life out of someone with your bare hands."

Shadow felt like vomiting. "That's so wrong," she whispered.

"That's a matter of opinion. I was given this ability for a reason. No one said I had to be a saint about it."

Shadow tilted her head, mouth curving upward at the corners. She looked quite dangerous. "I wonder how you'd like it," she mused, almost to herself.

"What are you talking about?" Vyce sneered impatiently.

"You think your ability is special," Shadow said quietly, meeting her gaze. "That's part of the lure of killing, isn't it? You have this so-called gift that allows you to do harm. But you're wrong."

"Oh?"

Shadow closed her eyes and focused on the other girl. She had never tried to intentionally cut off another person's senses – she had too many bad experiences to want to risk it. This Vyce girl, though, she needed to know what she put her victims through. Shadow narrowed her thoughts.

Vyce suddenly screamed; Shadow resisted opening her eyes. The sight was burned into her mind anyway: Vyce would be writhing on the ground, covered by a thin veil of darkness, screaming herself hoarse even if she couldn't feel herself doing it.

_Stop now_, Shadow willed the surrounding shadows. The sound of anguished shrieks abruptly cut out and Shadow opened her eyes calmly, hiding her surprise. She had never known herself to have this much control of her ability before – elements didn't like to be controlled, yet now the darkness heeded her will. Shadow surveyed the effects of her little attack. Vyce crouched on the pavement on her hands and knees, panting heavily. Her head hung down, but she raised it and glared at Shadow with murder in her eyes.

"Teaching me a lesson, Shadow?"

"Yeah, maybe," she replied, gazing back, unaffected by Vyce's hatred. "You need to understand just what you do to the people you attack."

Vyce slowly climbed to her feet. "Come on, now," she raised an eyebrow, "attack is a pretty strong word."

"I don't think so."

Vyce smirked malevolently. "Yeah, maybe you're right." Her eyes narrowed to slits again.

Shadow rolled her eyes. "Give it up, Vyce."

The girl's eyes glinted dangerously. "I suppose 'attack' would apply to the innocent bystanders as well, right?"

In Shadow's belly, little Allison started twisting and thrashing like crazy. Shadow wrapped her arms over her stomach in shock and pain. Her eyes met Vyce's; the look from the other girl was cruel and triumphant.

Shadow screamed.

Instantly the shadows swarmed Vyce and Allison settled down; Shadow quickly expanded her mental shield to include that of her daughter's mind as well. Vyce had the appearance of being caught in a mini tornado and Shadow could only just see her through the wall of grey. The other girl's mouth was open again, screaming. Shadow stared at the sight without moving.

"Stop," she whispered after a long moment.

The whirlwind dissipated, leaving Vyce staggering on her feet and looking very roughed up. Shadow swept her gaze across the width of the alley and mentally reached out to the darkness; it immediately responded, tendrils snaking toward Vyce, wrapping around her wrists and ankles and solidifying into chains. She wasn't taking any chances.

Vyce had the decency to appear slightly terrified as Shadow took slow, measured steps toward her.

"You attacked my brother," Shadow stated quietly. "You pissed me off.

"You attacked me. I'm okay with that, because I'm stronger than you. I can take it."

Shadow's eyes darkened perilously. "You attacked my _unborn baby girl_," she spat, "and you will pay." She stopped in front of Vyce, glaring at the girl with contempt.

"You believe in revenge?" Vyce raised her eyebrow.

Shadow struck out, catching Vyce cleanly across the jaw. Vyce's head snapped to the side and she gasped sharply.

"I believe that you don't understand the strength of protection elicited from a mother when someone attacks their child."

Vyce spat some blood and turned back to face Shadow. Her eyes narrowed briefly in a telltale 'I'm doing it again' look before Shadow hit her again.

"Try that again and I'll make you hurt a hell of a lot worse."

"God, Shadow, I'm not even doing anything."

"I bet."

Vyce smirked up at her. "We really aren't so different, you and I. You see it?"

Shadow curled her hand into a fist and smashed it against Vyce's face one more time for good measure before stepping back. She clawed inside her pocket and pulled out her phone, hit speed dial and jammed it to her ear.

"NYPD."

"Lee Michaels, please."

The line filled with static for a moment before her favorite detective came on the line. "Detective Michaels."

"Hey, Lee, it's me."

"Faith, what's wrong? Is it Thomas?"

"No, he's still in the hospital." Her dark eyes fixed on Vyce. "I have a present for you."

"Shit, Faith, this couldn't have waited?"

"Come to the alley behind the 76th Street housing division and you'll find out. Alone, if you can."

"Faith, what's going on?"

"See you soon." Shadow hung up, a small smile lurking on her mouth. She looked back at Vyce, who was fighting quite hard against her restraints.

"Those are completely elemental. They can't be broken."

Vyce glared at Shadow, all traces of teasing or mocking cleared from her eyes. "I hate you."

"Yes, you probably do. You brought all of this on yourself, you know."

"You don't know anything about me," Vyce growled.

Shadow's eyes softened minutely. "I know how it feels, though. You hate yourself, but you can't escape. So you just keep killing, because it's the only thing that makes you feel better. It's a cycle, because afterward you hate yourself even more."

"I like killing, don't you get it?"

"You say you do, but I think you're just lying to yourself." Shadow paced the width of the alley slowly, shooting random sidelong glances over at Vyce. "Let me ask you something."

"As if I have a choice."

Shadow ignored the comment. "What made you start in the first place? Why start attacking, and then start killing? I mean, seriously, Vyce?" She swept her gaze over the other girl's lithe frame. "You can't be more than sixteen at best. Teenagers do not randomly begin killing sprees – at least in my experience."

Vyce contemplated. "After I found out that I had this ability, I wanted to test its limits. See how far I could push the boundaries. So first I just immobilized people, and that was enough. I felt more powerful, seeing them helpless at my feet, you know? Then I wanted to know about the effects of pain. Just a few punches and kicks, some blood, maybe a few broken bones. No one felt anything until I lifted my influence. They screamed bloody murder at that point, of course, but it was . . . thrilling, in a way."

"And then you started killing."

Vyce's eyes blazed. "I was special for once in my life. I had a name, people knew who I was. And the knowledge that I could kill if I wanted to . . . intoxicating, Shadow. Just intoxicating. The more I killed, the more fear I inspired. Yet I walked the streets, and no one knew who I really was. They were all afraid of this person with abilities, but they passed me all the time without looking my way." A slight smile lit upon her lips. "I kind of liked that."

Shadow shook her head. "That's a sad way to be known, Vyce."

"But I was known. Not many people in this city can say that."

They both instinctively turned toward the entrance of the alley; sirens could be heard wailing closer. Shadow faced Vyce, locking gazes with her.

"I want you to do something for me."

Vyce's face contorted. "Yeah, give me one good reason for doing that."

"It could be something good in your short life of darkness," Shadow said quietly. "They have different facilities for specials that have murdered with their abilities. Nothing like the persecution of years past, but you'll be treated differently. Your ability works from your mind, to the mind of others. It means you'll probably be put on drugs so that you can't utilize your power. And they'll keep you like that, Vyce."

The younger girl looked scared now. "They still do that?" she whispered.

Shadow nodded. "In the case of murderers with abilities, yes. So you can do something good before you get locked up." She shot Vyce a pleading look. "I want my baby to have an uncle, Vyce. Just like the laws of physics, abilities have an equal and opposite reaction to the original action. You take away the senses of others, but you can also restore the senses, I'm sure."

Vyce nodded slowly. "You said your brother was in a coma. You think it's because of me?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to wake him up."

"Yes."

Vyce shrugged as best she could. "I'm not sure if I can do that, Shadow."

"Like hell you can't. Don't make me hit you again."

Vyce flinched a little. "Okay, okay, I'll see what I can do." She sighed heavily. "What hospital is he at?"

Shadow told her, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching sound of sirens. "Make it fast, Vyce."

"Don't rush me," the other girl muttered under her breath, her eyes already closed.

Shadow resumed pacing anxiously, watching the girl closely while consciously feeling out for the closeness of the approaching NYPD. They were right down the street now, but Shadow resisted snapping at Vyce to hurry up again. She wanted her brother back.

Tires squealed to a jolted stop at the mouth of the alley; Shadow bit her lip anxiously. She heard Lee shout her name as he leapt from the car.

Vyce opened her eyes and met Shadow's gaze. "He'll be fine," she said quietly, if a little resignedly. "No permanent harm done."

Shadow nodded her appreciation. "Thank you," she told the girl sincerely.

Vyce shrugged. She looked younger somehow, the hard edge of her persona softened a little. Shadow almost felt a bit sorry for her. It was a waste for the girl to throw her life away as she did.

The sound of hurried footsteps caught their attention and Shadow glanced over her shoulder to see Lee Michaels running toward them, hand already going for his gun. Shadow sent a small packet of shadows in his direction, not trusting Vyce not to incapacitate the detective. Lee looked around wildly, his eyes widening as they rested on the chained girl.

"Faith, what'd you do?"

"Hi, Lee, nice to see you too," Shadow said sarcastically, a smile on her lips. She gestured back to Vyce. "This is Vyce, your not-so-friendly neighborhood serial killer. Thought I'd do you a favor and round her up – her ability works within the mind, so she'll probably have to be heavily sedated, unless those brilliant scientists have finally come up with an alternative."

Lee stared at Shadow with wide, wary eyes. "Are you all right?"

She looked down and tenderly swept her hand over her stomach. "Yeah, Lee, I'm good."

"This wasn't just about the justice of the world, was it?"

Vyce spat more blood to the ground, as if to elucidate on Lee's question. Shadow shrugged. The detective sighed and shook his head, glancing over toward Vyce.

"She's just a kid," he commented softly, so that only Shadow could hear. She nodded grimly. Lee's eyes darted to her face fleetingly. "Remind you of anyone?"

Shadow sighed heavily, but was saved from answering by the buzzing of her phone. Shooting Lee an apologetic glance, she answered.

"Hey, Peter, what's up?"

"Thomas. He's awake. I don't know, just one minute, he sat up suddenly. He's asking for you, Shadow." Peter sounded stunned, as he well should be. No one had expected the Montgomery brother to ever wake up.

She allowed a relieved smile to break over her face. "Thanks, Peter. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Shadow hung up and turned back to Lee, grinning madly. "He's awake," she informed him.

"Oh, Faith," Lee pulled her into a fatherly hug. "I'm so glad."

Over his shoulder, Shadow locked eyes with Vyce, who looked simultaneously proud and scared. "Thank you," Shadow mouthed, the gratitude clearly written in her eyes.

Vyce shrugged.

"Let me give you a ride back to the hospital," Lee offered, steering Shadow away from the other girl and toward the open street.

"Sure, Lee. Can you do me a favor, though?" she asked softly. Lee nodded his affirmation. "Go easy on her – Vyce, I mean. She's young, and I think she just got in a little over her head."

"Faith, she's a killer."

"I know."

"You know that isn't my decision to make."

"But you can try."

He sighed. "Yeah, I can try."

Shadow smiled. "Thanks, Lee. Now come on," she said, walking slightly faster (more than slightly inhibited by the protruding belly that was her baby). That didn't stop her from trying, though. She felt happier than she had for many, many weeks.

_I've got my brother back._

* * *

A/N: Hey all! I'm sorry for taking so long with this, especially after that cliff hanger, but if you're in college (and in marching band particularly) you understand that school takes up so much of your time. In fact, I wrote most of this in my psych class. Ha. So sorry again.

I know some of you were hoping our favorite bad boy was back in town, but believe me, he'll have a grand entrance all his own. No worries :) And this wasn't much of a physical showdown, but I'm trying to make a comparison to Shadow now and who she could have been if she had taken a different path in life. Besides, the T rating is somewhat restricting in that regard. I'm happy with how it turned out, though.

I appreciate the staggering number of reviews I received for the last chapter! Please continue by reviewing some more!!

* * *


	27. Past, Present, Foreshadowing the Future

Shadow reclined on the sofa, feet propped up. With a mere three weeks until delivery, the people in Shadow's life had surprised her with a baby shower. The world seemed to convey its joy as well; sun streamed brightly through the open window and a light spring scent swirled about the room. She smiled at the pile of brightly-wrapped presents before shifting her gaze to her closest friends – Peter, Lee, and best of all, Thomas. A certain blonde ex-cheerleader was not in attendance, which Shadow thought odd. She and Claire had gotten along pretty well. Maybe she had gotten caught up in something else. Shadow made a mental note to ask Peter about it later.

Shadow studied Thomas from across the room. He definitely looked healthier and he smiled more – the sight of him grinning was still enough to catch Shadow off guard every once in a while. Her brother felt her eyes on him and glanced over, matching her smile. He excused himself from the conversation and wandered closer.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, relaxing onto the opposite end of the couch.

"Huge," Shadow admitted with a giggle. Indeed, her stomach resembled a small planet within the room. "But what about you? Still doing okay?"

Thomas studied her. "You're afraid I'm going to lose all my senses again, aren't you?"

"Terrified."

He shook his head. "Fae, you don't have to worry. Wanna know a secret? I think my senses have actually been heightened since I woke up."

Shadow tilted her head. "Really?"

"Yep," Thomas grinned. "Makes me feel almost as special as you."

"Just what we need, hm? It's a family affair."

"Speaking of," Thomas nodded toward her belly, "any odd occurrences that could be attributed to baby?"

Shadow shook her head. "Nothing unusual as of yet. Peter says I haven't gained as much weight as normal, though, so maybe she's just floating around in there."

"Little Ally bouncing off the ceilings," he chuckled. "Have fun with that."

"Yeah, like normal motherhood would be too much to ask for?"

"Be careful what you wish for," Peter called from across the room. "Nothing normal about you Montgomery people."

"Thanks, Peter. I feel the love," Shadow grinned wryly. "Weren't you ever taught not to eavesdrop?"

"Rules seem to get broken where you're concerned."

"No kidding," Thomas muttered. Shadow aimed a kick at his head, which he dodged good-naturedly.

"You know," Lee joined in, "I'm technically off duty, but I'll break you two up if I have to."

"Hey, I'm pregnant," Shadow protested. "What harm could I possibly be doing?"

Lee snorted. "Don't even try that innocent act with me, Faith."

She smiled back sweetly. "You know I'm nothing but."

"Not a chance."

Shadow smirked.

* * * * * *

"I want you to know."

Leigha glanced over at Sylar's stoic face in surprise. Back on the beach again, lounging in the sand, the two had been silent for the better half of the day until Sylar's sudden statement.

"Know what?" Leigha asked curiously, although she thought she could guess.

"Why I ran away from New York." Sylar determinedly did not meet her gaze.

Leigha tilted her head. "You've never used that phrase before. 'Run away.'"

Sylar heaved a barely audible sigh. "I know."

"So go on," she prodded after a lengthy silence.

"We were doing so great. Then, that night … she said something that I couldn't handle."

"And that was…?"

_Shadow muttered in her sleep. Sylar smiled, a rare occurrence. She didn't know that she tal__ked in her sleep. It was cute._

"_Gabriel . . ." she slurred. Sylar sighed softly. She did say his name often. Sometimes it was '__Sylar' and sometimes 'Gabriel.'_

"_I mumble mumble mumble," she whispered incoherently. Even his enhanced hearing couldn't pick up her words. Her brain wasn't processing the thought correctly and it soun__ded like rubbish on her tongue._

"_You what?" Sylar whispered. "Shadow, Shadow." He spoke to her when she talked, even though he knew she couldn't hea__r him. It amused him, somehow._

_Shadow murmured again, and this time her words slipped out clearly; they hung in the air, almost visible. She said it again._

"_I love you."_

"She was talking in her sleep. She said that she loved me."

Leigha stared at his profile, eyes bulging slightly. He turned his head slightly to look at her.

"Did you hear me?"

Leigha reached over and slapped Sylar upside the head, hard. His head jerked back.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed furiously, rubbing the back of his head.

"You idiot," Leigha growled. "She tells you that she loves you and you _freaking run across the country_?" She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. Sylar instinctively ducked. "You are such a man." She shot him a dagger-glare. "And that is _not_ a compliment."

"What was I supposed to do?" he demanded.

Leigha frowned. "Not run to California, that's for sure."

Sylar resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't you know me at all? Do I seem like the type of person to stick around after someone confesses something like that to me?"

"No," she admitted, "but I don't think you a coward, either."

He flinched. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Leigha fixed a hard glare on Sylar. "No."

Sylar sighed heavily.

"You have to go back, Sylar."

"No way in _hell_."

"This is stupid. She obviously loves you, and even though you are firmly seated on the train of denial, I know that you love her too. You know where she is, Sylar. Go to her."

He abruptly stood up. "I can't, Leigha. You don't get it, do you? I can't go back." Sylar turned his back to her, walking up the beach.

She watched him go with sad eyes. The man didn't know a good thing when he had it. A rare occurrence in his life, sure enough, but this was ridiculous. He couldn't put his pride away for what could possibly the best thing he might ever live for?

Leigha sighed heavily and dialed a number that was now quite familiar. She needed some advice.

* * * * * *

Shadow smiled contentedly and relaxed into the corner of the couch. As far as baby showers went, she would definitely rate hers high on the scale. It didn't matter that the party was just the three men and her; besides, their gifts more than made up for lack of people. She grinned at the thought. A brand new crib and stroller from Lee; enough infant clothing to last a year from Peter, as well as promises to babysit for free whenever he was needed. Shadow had teased that she wouldn't need his services, as she had no plans on leaving her daughter for a very long time. He had smirked.

Thomas, though, he had really outdone himself. Shadows still couldn't believe him, how much he had changed since he had embraced being an uncle and survived Vyce. She palmed the key in her hand, eyes glazing as she thought about his present.

"_Last, but not least . . ." Thomas tossed a small, neatly wrapped box through the air; Shadow caught it easily. She shook it and quirked an eyebrow._

"_Might be a letdown after all those clothes," she smirked, exchanging a grin with Peter._

_Thomas only smiled wider. "I highly doubt it, sis."_

_With a trademark roll of her eyes, Shadow carefully wriggled the top off the box. Nestled in the tissue paper was an ordinary key. She lifted it from the box and tossed it in the air, catching it in her palm. She looked curious in spite of herself._

"_And this is supposed to be . . . what?"_

"_A key."_

_She chucked a pillow in his direction. "Obviously, you dolt."_

_Thomas smirked. "Well, I thought with little Allison, you might want to get out of this place." He gestured to the room. Shadow tilted her head, urging him to continue. "I got you a new apartment more uptown. It has two bedrooms, one a little larger than the other. You and Ally can stay there until she's older, and then we can turn the second bedroom into a nursery." He took in Shadow's stunned expression._

"_You got me . . . a new apartment?"_

"_Technically, I got Allison a new apartment. But the lease is in your name, yes," he chuckled. "Despite me still paying all the bills."_

"_If I could propel myself off this couch and give you a monstrous hug, I would," Shadow whispered, still overwhelmed._

_Thomas smiled and rose, walking to his sister. "Let me do it for you," he said, stooping to embrace her. She hugged him furiously._

"_Thank you so much," she whispered. "You have no idea . . ."_

_He only nodded and held her tighter._

Thomas had taken Lee over to show him the apartment, and Peter stayed to watch her until they got back. He was currently in the kitchen cleaning up the cake that Shadow had been craving; she had devoured half of it all by her lonesome. The stray thought she had had earlier resurfaced and she called out to him.

"Hey Peter?"

He came to the doorway, leaning against the frame easily. "What's up, Shadow?"

Her eyes searched his face, and she shot straight to the core of the matter. "Why didn't Claire come today?"

Peter couldn't help the grimace that flashed across his face. "It's . . . complicated."

"I think I can keep up."

He sighed heavily. "She left me earlier this week."

Shadow gasped and half sat up. "Oh, no . . ."

Peter held up his hand. "Don't get up, Shadow. It's all right."

She fixed him with a look. "Really? You've been hanging around here for months, now. You can't lie to me."

His mouth tilted up slightly, but it didn't erase the sadness in his eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, brow slightly furrowed.

Peter shook his head. "I don't want to go there, Shadow."

She pouted.

He sighed. "If you must know . . ." he paused, glancing over at Shadow gazing back expectantly. "I accidentally drove her away."

Shadow cocked her head. "How did you do that?"

"'It's 'Shadow this' and 'baby that,''" Peter mimicked sadly. He shook his head. "She was upset that I spent all my time with you, and didn't like how close she felt I was getting to the baby. It's hard for her, you know . . ." his eyes were sad. "She can't have children, what with her ability and all. I would say she was jealous, to be honest, but I think it's a little harsh for our situation. Anyway," he sighed, "she finally decided she had had enough and walked out."

Shadow looked horrified. "Oh, my God, Peter," she whispered. "It's my entire fault. I'm so, so, so sorry . . ."

"No, Shadow," he said firmly. "You are not allowed to take the blame for this. All right? What happened, happened. Maybe it would have happened eventually anyway. Don't you dare blame yourself." Peter fixed her with a glare so fierce that Shadow was taken aback at the intensity. She nodded slowly.

"I'm still sorry," Shadow said softly.

Peter sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I'll just need time. And hey," he flashed a half-hearted smile, "I have all the time in the world."

Shadow nodded mutely. Peter bit his lip. "Would you mind terribly if I stepped outside for a second, Shadow?"

"Not at all," she smiled softly. Her eyes followed him as he walked across the room and out the door. Shadow sighed. Peter didn't deserve to have that happen to him. He had been selflessly helpful for her entire pregnancy . . . effectively ruining his own relationship with Claire. That just didn't seem right.

A loud, obnoxious ringing interrupted Shadow's musings on the injustices of the world; she started, looking to the endtable. Peter's cell phone was lit up, emitting its annoying ringtone at high volume. Shadow cringed and picked it up, accidently pushing the 'answer' key.

"Shit," she swore to herself before placing the device at her ear. "Hello?"

On the other end of the line, Leigha frowned. "Hey, I'm calling for Peter?"

"Yeah, he just . . . stepped out for a second." Shadow paused. She hadn't recognized the area code of the number, and the voice was female. Who was Peter talking to? "Do you want to hang on until he's back, or should I take a message, or . . .?"

"Wait a minute. With whom am I speaking?"

"I'm pretty sure that's irrelevant," Shadow said icily.

"Shadow?"

Shadow scowled. "Who are you?"

"I'm –" The woman stopped abruptly. "Ooohhhh," she breathed.

"What?"

"Tell Peter that Leigha called, all right, Shadow?"

"Leigha," Shadow repeated dubiously.

"Yep. See you soon, Shadow."

"Hold on, what are you –?" The line went dead. Shadow stared at the phone. "What the hell?"

Peter conveniently walked back into the apartment within the next moment. Shadow looked up at him with a confused expression. Peter smiled crookedly.

"What'd I miss?"

Shadow tossed him the phone. "A call from some chick named Leigha?"

"Oh." Peter frowned at the device. "You answered?"

"Accidently."

He chuckled. "Of course. Did she say what she wanted?"

"Uh-uh. She just told me to say that she called . . . but then she said something really strange."

Peter tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"She said she'd see me soon."

He frowned again. "That is weird."

"Who is she, Peter?"

"A friend."

Shadow rolled her eyes. "Thank you for a response-that-was-not-at-all-vague."

He grinned sheepishly. "C'mon, Shadow, it's nothing. If it were really important, I'd tell you. I promise."

She nodded. He wouldn't hold anything from her, not if it truly mattered. Shadow yawned.

"Tired?" Peter smiled.

"Busy day," Shadow replied with a grin.

Peter nodded. "Indeed it was. Wanna sleep for a while?"

She yawned again. Peter chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

* * * * * *

Immediately upon hanging up, Leigha leapt to her feet and bolted for Sylar's apartment. That had been a surprise. She had never expected to talk to Shadow herself, but Leigha was glad that she had. Now she knew that Sylar absolutely _had_ to go back to New York. It wasn't just about Shadow anymore.

Leigha giggled, even though she kind of felt like slapping Peter Petrelli at the same time. Odd that he had neglected to tell her one very important factor of their dear girl Shadow. Stupid man. Figures that Leigha would have to talk to the girl in order to figure it out; luckily her ability extended that far. She grinned again. Shadow was lucky indeed.

Sylar wrenched open the door, frowning at the sight of Leigha panting for breath on the threshold. She looked as though she had run all the way from wherever she had been to his doorstep. "What?" he snapped.

Leigha grinned. "We're going to New York," she stated, pushing her way inside.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"You. Me. Road trip. New York," Leigha said as explanation, grabbing a random stack of clothes and a nearby duffel bag.

"I already said no, Leigha," Sylar snarled, ripping the duffel bag out of her hands. "Get out."

"The circumstances have changed, Sylar," Leigha told him impatiently, tugging the bag back and shoving the clothes inside. "You need to be in New York."

"Why?"

"Shadow needs you."

"What the hell?"

Leigha rolled her eyes and turned to him. "Look, I've been talking to Peter Petrelli for a few months now. You left the number in call memory," she explained at the murderous look on his face. "The point is, Shadow needs you. In New York. And you love her, so you need to pack up your clothes and _get there_, all right?"

Sylar scowled. "Is she okay?"

"She will be once you're there."

"Leigha," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her somewhat. "Is Shadow all right?"

She stared back into his gaze unflinchingly. "Go to New York, Sylar. Go to her. She needs you."

He sighed. "Leigha, if this is some trick to get me back there . . ."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"No," Sylar grudgingly admitted.

"Trust me, Sylar. You'll be glad you went back. And so will Shadow."

_And baby makes three . ._ .

* * *

A/N: Soooo sorry about the delay in this chapter! College is kicking my butt, plus this was more of a transition chapter – harder for me to write. I hope this semi-cliffhanger makes up for it, and the next chapters should come faster. After all, Sylar's back in town . . . *evil grin*

Review please! I appreciate all the encouragement I get!


	28. Welcome Back Now Get Out

Wind whipped past the sleek, stolen car as Sylar and Leigha crossed the NYC boundary. Sylar drove, his knuckles white as he clutched the black leather of the steering wheel; Leigha sat quietly beside him, staring out at the landscape as it rushed by them. They hadn't spoken very much since leaving California – Sylar was simply trying to control the uncontrollable emotions raging within him, and Leigha couldn't stop thinking about the surprise that awaited him. The buildings stretched taller above them, and Leigha turned her head toward him a bit.

"Do you know where you're going?" She tried desperately to keep the condescension out of her voice.

His eyes burned a path ahead. "I could never forget," Sylar responded shortly.

* * * * * *

Shadow groaned, shifting her ever-increasing weight to her other foot. She stared around her apartment with mixed emotions; it was practically empty, her life's possessions packed into boxes and ready to be moved. This place had been her home for the past two years, all she knew of living in New York. Now she was starting anew – new apartment, new life, new baby.

She heard soft footsteps come up behind her. "You look thoughtful," Peter commented as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

Shadow sighed. "I can't believe I'm actually moving on with my life, you know? Before any of this, before I found Sylar, I just lived day to day, trying to forget, trying not to cause any accidents or kill anybody." She smiled gently. "But I'm going to be a mother in like, a month. That's incredibly surreal to me. I have something to live for, instead of not caring whether or not I make it to tomorrow."

"I think that's a healthy place to be, Shadow," Peter said softly.

"Yeah?" she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Yeah," he grinned. His smile faded a little. "Do you ever think about him?"

Shadow shrugged. "Of course I do. Every single day." She wrapped her arms around her protruding stomach protectively. "How can I not? But I think . . . I mean, I've accepted the fact that I'm going to be a single mother. My baby will be loved, no matter what."

Peter offered her a soft smile. "I don't really think you can say you're a single mother when you've got at least two other people perfectly willing to help raise this baby with you."

"Ah, yes. At least I'll never be alone."

"Of course not," Peter said. "Never again, Shadow."

Shadow's eyes started watering. She swore under her breath. "Damn hormones." She glared up at Peter. "See what you made me do?"

He backed away, playfully holding up his hands in surrender. "My bad, Shadow," he grinned, glancing at his watch. "Moving van should be here soon."

She nodded and jerked her head toward the hallway. "I'll just be a minute," she said as she headed toward the bathroom.

Peter looked around the apartment and sighed. It was good that Shadow was moving on with her life. Getting out of this apartment was a promising first step. He smiled slightly and moved toward a pile of boxes marked 'dishes.'

An insistent knocking at the door stopped him before he had even picked up the first box. He checked his watch; the movers were a little early, but that was all right. _The sooner, the better,_ Peter thought as he went to let them in.

The stream of expletives that fell from Peter's tongue when he opened the door were perfectly justified, because whoever he had expected to see, it certainly hadn't been Sylar, fist raised and ready to break down the door.

It was hard to say who was more surprised to see the other. Almost instantly, though, both of their expressions shifted from surprise and shock to fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter demanded through clenched teeth.

"I could ask the same of you," Sylar hissed back, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Peter scowled. "_I_ am helping Shadow."

"Peter!" Shadow's voice suddenly came from the bathroom. "Could you get me a towel? I forgot to grab one before I turned the water on!"

Sylar's face blackened. "'Helping' her, Peter?"

Peter didn't have time to prepare himself before he heard the crunch and felt bones break. He let out a shout and stumbled back, holding his bleeding nose and shifting it back into place. He glared at Sylar.

"What the _hell_!"

The shouts were enough to bring Shadow out into the living area, whipping her hands about and dropping water on the floor. She waddled as fast as she could when she heard the angry voices.

"Peter, what's going –?"

Shadow stopped dead when she took in the sight that met her eyes. Peter was wiping blood from his lip, casting a worried glance over at her; Sylar froze on the threshold, clearly trying to comprehend the vision of a very pregnant Shadow. She could almost see him counting back in his head.

Peter regained his senses and hurriedly rushed to her side. "Shadow, go back to the bathroom. I can handle him."

She shook her head mutely, eyes burning into Sylar. Peter released an exasperated sigh.

"Look, I don't want you getting upset. It could be bad – I need you to stay as calm as you can."

Her mouth drew itself into a stern line. "I'm calm," she said in a strained voice.

Sylar seemed to hesitate in the doorway. "You're –"

"Shut up!" Peter snarled over his shoulder. "Just shut up and get out!"

Shadow shook her head. "Let me," she growled, jerking herself out of Peter's grasp and shuffling to the door. Her stride didn't alter as she drew back a hand and swung.

The sound echoed into the silence of the near-empty apartment. Sylar didn't react as the imprint of her hand appeared on his cheek in angry red; he only stood there, staring between Shadow's face and her swollen belly. He shook his head slowly.

"I didn't . . . didn't know," he whispered. His dark eyes met hers. "Is it . . . is it mine?"

"Of course it's yours," a soft, impatient voice chimed in from behind Sylar's frame. A wave of red hair poked around his body. "I wouldn't make you come all the way back to New York for nothing."

"My baby," Shadow said softly, her voice trembling, "is not an 'it.'"

Peter was once again at her side. "Shadow," he said in a tone that sounded suspiciously close to begging, "please try to stay calm."

"I'm calm," she said again.

"Sylar," Peter said urgently, locking gazes with the other man, "please get out. We can make plans to meet up later in the week, maybe after Shadow's gotten over the shock. You really shouldn't have just showed up at her –"

Shadow suddenly cried out and doubled over, gasping for air.

"Shit," Peter swore as he knelt beside her. "Shadow, look at me … look at me!"

With effort, Shadow lifted her head to meet his eyes. She looked terrified.

"It's too early," she whispered. "Peter, it's too early." She groaned as another contraction ripped through her.

"Just breathe, Shadow," he said softly. "Breathe. It'll be okay."

Shadow felt the gush of liquid and gasped. "Peter, she's coming now!" she yelled hysterically.

Peter quickly snatched up the duffel bag they had prepared specifically for this reason, although he had hoped they wouldn't need it so soon. He grabbed her hand.

"Let's go!" he said urgently.

"Where are you taking her?" Sylar demanded, still in shock.

"The hospital," Peter replied as he pushed past the other man. "You have a decision to make, Sylar, right now. Your baby is coming into this world, and you have to decide if you're going to stick around to see that happen!"

Sylar didn't even have to think about it. "You drive. I'll carry her."

Shadow cried out as he scooped her up in his arms. He looked down at her, a glimmer of the Sylar she knew touching the features of his face. "You'll be okay, Shadow. I promise."

She only let out a scream as they rushed her toward the nearest vehicle.

* * *

A/N: W00t! Baby on the way! I know it's a shorter chapter, but I couldn't fit everything into one scene. Gotta keep you coming back for more, don't I?

Please review!


	29. Ready or Not

The sound of Shadow's screams filled the delivery room, so shrill Peter feared for the strength of the glass windows.

"Shut the blinds!" he ordered Sylar, who obeyed without thinking. He still seemed to be in a sort of trance, as though the entire occurrence was a dream and not reality.

They had made it into the hospital with minimal interference; Peter had pulled some strings to get them a private room and managed to keep the nurses away. He knew that he was the only one who could deliver the baby – the shadows were already restlessly swirling at the perimeter of the room, and it would only become worse. He didn't want to have to subject that to anyone who couldn't handle the extent of Shadow's powers, limiting the options to Peter and Sylar.

Peter was moving quickly, already divesting Shadow of her clothes as she stood gasping. He had her into a hospital gown and on the table before long, but Sylar didn't seem to have the ability to move. He had seen her belly, skin stretched, and it made him feel hollow.

How could he have not known? Why hadn't someone told him?

Sylar knew the answer, and that made it hurt even more. He hadn't known because he had run away, no one had told him because he hadn't allowed it. Way back when he had first called Peter – wasn't the other man attempting to tell him something when he had hung up? He had missed out on so much by leaving New York, and now . . . . Was he ready to be a father? Hell no. No one could possibly expect him to be prepared for a baby. Shadow – she'd had months to come to terms with the new life she carried. He couldn't possibly be expected to deal with this now, hours before the birth?

An agonized wail jerked him from self-pity, and his eyes were mercilessly pulled back to Shadow. Tears were falling from her eyes; she made no effort to stop their flow. Peter bustled around her, hooking her up to machines that beeped.

Shadow's hand shot out and grasped Peter around the wrist. He paused and looked down at her.

"It hurts, Peter," she whimpered between gasps of air. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry, Shadow." Even Sylar could see Peter's eyes begging her for forgiveness. "I don't want to give you any drugs if it might interfere with the baby's abilities." He placed his hand over hers. "You're strong enough to do this. I believe that, Shadow, with everything I am." Peter gently tugged his arm from her grip and stared across the room at Sylar.

"Get over here."

Sylar blinked. "What?"

"You're the father of this baby, whether you like it or not," Peter said flatly. "You chose to come along, so you're going to help. I need to deliver. You need to keep her calm, keep her breathing." His eyes flashed. "Get over here, now."

Dazed, Sylar took long strides and replaced Peter at Shadow's bedside. He looked over at Peter nervously. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Talk to her," Peter replied, taking notes on Shadow's vitals. "Make her breathe somewhat normally."

Sylar took a deep breath of his own and gazed down at the young woman he had left, stunned by what he saw. She wasn't so young anymore – her face held a maturity that seen on seldom few her age, and he felt a pang. He had made her grow up too fast, even if inadvertently. He swallowed.

"Shadow?" he said her name tentatively. It still tasted sweet on his tongue.

She didn't seem to hear him though, as she breathed heavily and avoided his eyes. He thought he could just come back and fall into this role? Like he had never left in the first place, like she hadn't had him to rely on over the course of this entire pregnancy? She had been shattered, devastated, when he left, and afterward when she knew she would always have a permanent reminder of him in her life.

He said her name again, more desperately. Slowly, she allowed her gaze to shift to his face. He looked exactly as she remembered him – of course. He looked relieved when she turned her face to him. Sylar reached for her hand automatically; she pulled it just out of range. He sighed.

"Okay, I get it. You're mad at me."

"Furious," Shadow corrected him quietly, her voice raw, but he could still hear the undertone of fury. He cringed.

"I deserve that," he admitted. Sylar brushed away the tears still clinging to her cheeks; she flinched away, but he held steady. "I didn't know what else to do, Shadow."

She stared at the ceiling stonily. The darkness danced across the walls, joining above her bed, moving ceaselessly.

Sylar kept talking. "You have to understand – unless it's anger or revenge, I don't have a great comprehension of emotions." He paused to shoot a glare a Peter, one that said if-you-ever-repeat-anything-I'm-saying-you-will-be-in-a-world-of-hurt. "When you – I mean, what you said that night . . . I didn't know how to handle it."

Shadow was curious in spite of herself. What had she said that night that was different? What would make him run away the way he did?

"What are you –?" Her question was interrupted by another contraction, causing a subsequent cry to be wrenched from her throat. Sylar looked on helplessly until the sound died. Shadow coughed and swore.

"That hurts," she muttered hoarsely.

"I bet," Sylar said weakly. He held out his hand. "Here. Next time, just grab and squeeze. As hard as you want." He attempted a half-grin. "I won't break."

A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "No," Shadow said slowly, "I guess you won't." She grabbed his hand, and he hissed in surprise. She was holding on more tightly than he had expected.

His eyes met hers. "You were saying?" he prompted quietly.

Shadow grimaced. "I don't know what you're talking about . . . Sylar." She stumbled over his name, but with minimal difficulty. "I don't remember saying anything that would – would drive you away." She closed her eyes, unable to let him see the fresh tears in her eyes.

She heard him sigh heavily. "No, I don't suppose you would."

Her eyebrows furrowed further.

"You were asleep," Sylar attempted to explain. "That night after we had returned from Peter and Claire's."

"The night I got pregnant."

Sylar's mouth twisted. "Yes, that night. You were talking in your sleep – you do that sometimes – and . . . you said my name. You said my name, and then you said something that made me panic . . ."

Despite her glistening eyes, Shadow forced herself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were solemn, and he clutched her hand tightly in his. Sylar swallowed thickly. "Shadow . . . you said that you loved me."

Shadow bit her lip. She hadn't known. How could she? "So you left me?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"No need to punish me," Sylar said with a small smirk. "Leigha saw to that when she found out." He glanced back at the closed blinds. "She made me come back, you know. I think she knew you were pregnant. Something about her ability." He chuckled quietly. "She actually started to pack my bags for me."

"You left because I love you?"

Sylar's breath hitched when he heard the quiet pain in her words. He barely noted her words, how she had confirmed her feelings towards him. He stroked her face gently. "Yes," he admitted. "I ran away from you . . . I was terrified, Shadow. I don't do connection."

"But you came back," Shadow stated, the tears spilling over.

"Yes, I did." Sylar knelt and pulled her as close to himself as he possibly could. "I care very much for you, Shadow. I don't know when it happened. I don't know how I'm going to handle it, but I won't leave you again." His eyes shifted to her undulating belly. "Either of you."

Shadow cried quietly, letting his words wash over her. She knew she could hold him to his word. His fingers collected her tears and brushed them away.

"You know what I was thinking about on the way here?" he murmured to her quietly. She shook her head. "This song I know. You probably don't remember it, but me . . . anyway. It's called 'With Me.' One of the lyrics says 'I won't let go.' That's my promise to you, Shadow. I won't let you go – ever." He leaned over and kissed her, and she let him. He poured his apology and regret into that kiss, and he knew she could feel it. No one had ever given him anything as special as a child. He wasn't going to give that up.

"Sentimental," Peter remarked dryly from the end of the bed.

Sylar broke the kiss to turn blazing eyes on the other man, but Shadow stopped him.

"Claire left him," she informed Sylar quietly. He nodded curtly and refrained from any scathing remarks.

Shadow abruptly let out a strangled cry and swore.

Unnoticed by any in the room, the swirling dark mass slid down the wall and slowly began to encase Shadow in a gray bubble.

Sylar reached out and swept her sweat-soaked hair out of her face. She grimaced and breathed deeply before gasping.

"Peter," she choked out. "Something's wrong."

Peter immediately checked the monitors, all beeping normally. Her free hand snaked out and grabbed his arm.

"Not the baby," Shadow gasped. "Me."

Sylar swore loudly as the shadows suddenly wrapped fully around the soon-to-be mother, twisting madly. "What the hell?"

"The baby," Peter whispered in horror. "It's causing Shadow pain. Her ability is trying to destroy the source."

"No!" Shadow cried out.

Peter retreated to the end of the bed. "Shadow, you're ready. I need to push, push with everything you have!"

She screamed as she followed his orders. Sylar instinctively leapt onto the hospital bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Push, Shadow. I know you're in pain, you don't want anything to happen to our baby, and neither do I. You can't control your ability right now, so you need to push as hard as you can so that she's okay."

Shadow cried out harshly. The mass of shadows thinned as tendrils seeped through the hospital gown and seemingly into her stomach – toward the source of Shadow's agony.

"Push, Shadow!" Peter commanded.

Sylar kissed her temple reverently. "You can do this, Shadow, I know you can. We can't let anything happen to our child. I know how strong you are. Remember how we met? You let the big bad serial killer sleep on your sofa? Remember that? You weren't afraid at all. So strong, so confident in your abilities even though you pushed everyone away. Everyone except me. Push, baby, push with everything you have."

A slight ripple pulsed throughout the room, and the fiercely twisting shadows began to recede on themselves, travelling away from Shadow and toward . . .

"Sylar!" Shadow gasped weakly.

Peter glanced up the bed with wide eyes. "Your ability," he deduced quickly. "You're empathizing with her, Sylar. You've taken on her ability. I don't know what you're doing, but don't stop."

Sylar ground his teeth together. It hurt, trying to take the darkness into himself. But as long as his baby was fine, he could take it.

"Push, Shadow," he reminded her gently.

She screeched as the pain ripped through her. "Sylar, if I ever get the chance I will kill you for this!" Shadow screamed.

He chuckled weakly and held her tighter.

"I've got a head!" Peter exclaimed triumphantly. "Come on, shadow, keep it up! Push!"

"I've got the concept!" she yelled, sagging into Sylar's strong form behind her.

Several minutes passed, filled with Sylar's bated breath and Shadow's piercing screams and Peter's soft panting as more and more of baby Montgomery/Gray emerged. Shadow barely drew breath, her screams continual until Peter gave an encouraging "Last push, Shadow!" and the pain finally subsided. She fell back, thoroughly exhausted as the cries of a new life filled the room, a welcome change from her own screams.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He would never be used to delivering a living, breathing soul into the world. His dark eyes met Sylar's.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" he asked softly.

Sylar carefully extracted himself from underneath Shadow's dead weight and went to the end of the bed, looking down into the face of the newborn girl in Peter's arms. The other man seemed to be cradling the baby a bit awkwardly, but Sylar supposed that he wasn't used to holding infants in his arms.

"The umbilical cord?" he muttered to Peter.

"Go ahead."

Manipulating his ability, the cord was clamped and severed cleanly without instruments. Shadow weakly lifted her head from the pillow. "Allison?" she whispered.

Sylar smiled up at her. "Is that her name?"

"Allison Gabrielle Montgomery . . ." Shadow sighed. "Tell me about her."

"She's beautiful," he assured her with a gentle smile. "She has your eyes."

"Good," she murmured before collapsing back to the pillow.

Peter chuckled. "Wore you out, didn't it?"

Shadow stayed quiet. Peter frowned. "Shadow, you didn't go to sleep already, did you? Don't you want to hold your daughter?"

Sylar felt the rhythm of his heart speed up. "Peter, what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he quickly replied. "Here, take Allison." He turned his eyes on Sylar. "Very, _very_ carefully, you hear me? Between the two of you, you created one incredibly special child."

"What . . . ?" Sylar began, but Peter carefully transferred the little girl to Sylar's arms before rushing up next to Shadow.

Sylar looked down at – _your daughter_ – the baby girl and shushed her. "Don't worry, Mommy will be fine." He helplessly glanced at the prone body of Shadow. "She has to be, right, baby?

"Right, little Allison?"

* * *

A/N: Whoops, cliffhanger again. I swear I didn't mean to. I'm also sorry it's taken so long to get this out. Finals killed my life for a couple weeks, and now I've put myself into a lose-lose life situation that sucks my creativity and everything else. But I'll really, really try to get the next bit up after the new year. After all, you want to know what's up with Shadow, right? And little Allison's ability? Yeah, you know you do.

Let me know with your reviews. If you wish to hold me at gunpoint until I write faster, you're welcome to say so – I'd certainly deserve it. I'll try to shake this cloud of depression that's hanging over my head for a few days, at the very least.

I most definitely do NOT own "With Me" by Sum 41.


	30. Sins Forgiven

Shadow slowly opened her eyes, cringing at the light that immediately assaulted her senses. She blinked. This was definitely not the hospital room. Her vision gradually adjusted and she sat up, gazing around curiously.

The light that surrounded her originated from nowhere, yet came from everywhere. Not that it helped any; this place was empty, merely a place of existence. And far too quiet. Hadn't there been screaming, yelling, crying? Her baby – her little Allison Gabrielle . . .

Shadow felt a surge of triumph. She had been right – she had a daughter, a new life that she had brought into the world.

_But at what cost?_ she suddenly thought. _Why am I here, and where is here anyway?_ A single horrible idea struck her. _Am I dead?_

"Not today, my love."

Shadow whipped around, startled to find that she was not as alone as she had believed. Standing opposite of Shadow a woman gazed down, a smile lighting up her face. A woman with gently curling, night black hair and piercing eyes of sparkling jade. Shadow stared back in stunned wonder.

"Mom?"

Allison Montgomery's smile widened. Shadow scrambled to her feet and took a hesitant step forward, half-raising a hand toward her late mother before stopping herself. Obviously something big was going on if she could accept the vision of her talking, walking mother without protest. Either that, or she had gone insane, or she really was experiencing some sort of afterlife. She chuckled nervously.

"Sure I'm not dead?"

"Not yet, Faith."

Shadow bit her lip. "I don't even let Thomas call me that."

Allison gave her a small, sad smile. "I know, hon."

"It hurt too much, you know?" Shadow said softly, her voice wavering minutely. "Every time he said it, he sounded exactly like you . . . everyone always said Thomas was most like you."

Her mother walked toward her, and Shadow fought not to run. Maybe she really was dead, and this was Hell, forever a reminder of her worst sin. She felt the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Allison stopped in front of her daughter and reached up to cup Shadow's face, brushing away the tears with a feather touch.

"You are not dead," Allison stated firmly. "Faith . . . listen to me. I forgive you."

Shadow blinked furiously. "What?"

"You are more your mother's daughter than you know," Allison replied with a gentle smile. "I don't blame you for what happened on your Prom night, Faith. I should have realized that your ability might have manifested with your emotions running as highly as they were."

Shadow gasped softly. "You knew I had an ability?"

Allison shook her head. "No. Your father and I weren't certain. We knew Thomas didn't have one or it would have manifested long before yours. You might have had one, though. We never had you tested, although there was a chance."

"But the gene sequence for an ability is random, and not all that common," Shadow said.

"True," Allison nodded in affirmation, "but having a genetically inherited ability gene sequence does drastically increase those odds."

Shadow stared back at her mother with wide eyes, not speaking. Her mind was racing, though. What did that mean?

"Your mother's daughter," Allison added.

The pieces fell into place with an almost audible sound. "You had an ability?" Shadow whispered.

Allison nodded. "Oh, yes. I never used it, though. Not after I discovered how dangerous it could be, the things I could do."

"Like mine," Shadow said softly.

"Yes, but not quite. You'll never be able to fully control your ability, Faith," Allison touched her daughter's cheek sympathetically. "Elements were never meant to have a master. I could turn mine off, so to speak . . . whatever I wrote became reality. Physically wrote down, with a pencil and paper. I wrote about my life, my friends, and it happened. I didn't know for sure; at first I thought it was coincidence. But then things happened – accidents. I was going through a dark time in my life – you know about my parents, right?"

Shadow nodded. Her grandparents had separated when her mother was a teenager.

"I wrote dark stories to complement my dark mood," Allison continued. "I used my friends' names in the stories simply for lack of creativity. People close to me suffered more that year than anyone else in the school." She sighed heavily. "It took me a while to understand that I was the one causing all the bad things to happen. After Brianna nearly died in a car accident, I put away my paper forever."

Shadow swallowed. "You never killed anyone?"

"No, thank goodness."

"I've killed people," she confessed quietly. "Not just you. Accidents, though . . . I can't control it sometimes . . ."

Allison nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry you have to live with those lives on your soul, Faith. But you need to see that they were just as you said – accidents. That doesn't make it any less awful, but you need to forgive yourself, love."

"How can I possibly?" Shadow asked in an anguished whisper. "I've robbed people of the chance to live. How is that forgivable?"

"Your remorse, the guilt you carry . . . you think you have to pay a higher price than that?" Allison looked her daughter in the eye. "You have the opportunity to have a really great life, Faith. You have a newborn daughter who's waiting to see you, a partner who loves you. You deserve to be happy, and that means you have to let go of all the wrong that you've done. Forgive yourself, and give yourself the chance to live a happy life."

Shadow cried silently. She could never really appreciate her life, because the label 'murderer' seemed to loom over head wherever she went. The murder of her mother darkly tainted her thoughts. Allison's words rang true. Shadow didn't think she deserved to have that happy life on principle alone. People with blood on their hands did not have happy lives.

"Faith," Allison said softly. Shadow forced herself to meet her mother's gaze. "You can't keep living with this hanging over your head. You have to think of the people close to you – little Ally, and Gabriel. They need you just as much as you need them. Forgive yourself, and you'll find what you're looking for."

Shadow offered a tiny smile and a nod. It would take time, to be sure, but the decision to make the effort was a very good start. And Allison was right. How would her baby fare without her? Sylar . . . Shadow had the feeling that she helped keep that darkness inside of him at bay. They both needed her. She chewed her lip again. How could she get back to them if she was here?

"All in good time, daughter," Allison grinned. "Walk with me."

Mother and child walked through the plane of existence for some time, allowing the silence to surround them. It was a companionable silence, neither of them anxious to immediately talk more than what they had already. Shadow began to get restless, though.

"Can I ask you something, mom?"

"Mm," Allison nodded.

"Why am I here? I don't know where 'here' is, and I don't feel I need to know that, but why?"

"Faith," her mother smiled, "you just delivered a baby against your ability's better wishes, and that ability has been shared. Your body is exhausted, hon. It needs to rest. So your conscious mind came here – the plane of existence, between reality and imagination, fact and fiction, waking and dreaming. You're fine, trust me."

Shadow nodded and asked hesitantly, "Do I get to back soon? I want to meet my daughter."

Allison gave a smile that outshone all the others. "Of course you do. I just have one more thing to ask of you, okay?"

Grinning slightly, Shadow nodded again.

"Go see your father, Faith." Allison met her daughter's eyes solidly. "It isn't fair to him that you ran away. If he knows about your daughter, it's because of Thomas. He didn't hear it from you. He doesn't know about Gabriel, or the way you two feel about each other." She shook her head. "He doesn't deserve to be punished like that."

Shadow went back to chewing her lip. She had stayed away from her father because of the shame she felt over the Prom incident. He would blame her, she knew. She didn't want to face that.

"He blames me for your death," Shadow said quietly.

"Has he ever told you that?"

Shadow shot her a sharp glance.

Allison sighed. "He doesn't blame you, Faith. He misses you. You need to go see him, all right? This isn't up for discussion."

"You sound just like a mom," Shadow chuckled.

"I am. Bring Ally and Gabriel with you when you see him. Let him back into your life, Faith. He deserves that much."

Shadow sighed and nodded. "It won't be easy."

"I know."

Silence enveloped them once more as they considered each other. Allison smiled at last. "Are you ready to meet your daughter?"

Shadow's eyes lit up and she nodded emphatically. Allison laughed.

"But . . ." Shadow hesitated. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Not in this lifetime, hon. I doubt it. You have your own life to live, remember?" She smiled. "But you know the old cliché. I'll always be with you in your heart."

Shadow smirked. "Definitely a cliché."

"But definitely true." Allison reached out suddenly and pulled Shadow into her embrace. "Take care of yourself, Faith. Remember what I said about forgiving yourself. You do deserve happiness." She tightened her hold. "I love you, Faith. Don't you ever forget that."

"I love you too, Mom," Shadow sighed as she hugged her mother tightly.

She wasn't aware of anything changing at first, but slowly Shadow's surroundings took on a dream-like quality. Her body felt lighter than the air she breathed, and the form of her mother seemed to melt through her fingers. Allison's soft laughter was the last thing Shadow registered before the entire scene dissolved around her and she blacked out.

* * *

A/N: The end is in sight! One chapter and an epilogue, I'm thinking. I hope this chapter satisfies you all. Some explanations and some closure.

Stick around for the last bit (Little Allison's ability revealed!), and please don't forget to review!!


	31. Families Reunited

"You're sure she's okay?" Sylar cast another frantic look over at Peter before returning his attention to the sleeping Shadow.

Peter grinned, amused by the thought of describing Sylar as 'frantic.' "I told you, her body needs to rest. Physically, she's healthy but exhausted. Let her be for now. After she wakes up, you won't be able to covet your daughter for much longer."

Allison rested in her father's arms peacefully, her dark eyes wide and inquiring. The dusting of hair on her head already mirrored that of her father, sure to be just as think and dark as she grew.

Sylar stared down at her, clearly in adoration. "She's so beautiful," he breathed.

"She really is," Peter agreed with a smile. "Who knew you would have cute kids?"

The new father shot him a glare but couldn't keep it up for long, reverting his gaze back to Allison. "I'll ignore that, Peter. Besides, I can't take all the credit."

Both gazes shifted to Shadow. Sylar smiled softly.

"She'll be such a great mother," he said aloud. "She took me in with no strings attached – imagine the care when someone she loves is involved."

"She loves you." Peter effectively dodged Sylar's gaze as he continued. "You don't think you'll be a good father?"

He sighed. "Outstanding parenting doesn't exactly run in the family."

"Lucky we're allowed to break that chain, then."

Sylar looked down at Allison; she looked back, her liquid eyes communicating her intelligence. He breathed another sigh of wonder. "With this little girl, I think I could be father of the year."

Peter grinned.

The door suddenly swung open; only Sylar's quick reflexes kept it from banging against the wall as he slowed it. Thomas hurried into the room, his expression torn between joy and exasperation.

"I came as soon as I got the call," he said in a rush. "Where is she?"

"Over there," Sylar smirked, nodding toward Shadow. He was rewarded with a venomous glare. "Relax, I have her." Sylar slowly turned to Thomas, trying to disturb Allison as little as possible.

Thomas's face lit up. "She's beautiful," he sighed.

"That's the general consensus," Peter nodded.

"I can't believe I'm an uncle . . ."

Sylar snorted. "Try being a father. I just found out . . ." he checked the clock, "yesterday."

Thomas didn't seem to hear his words, but he did have the grace to ask Sylar, "May I hold her?"

Sylar appeared conflicted, his gaze flicking between his daughter and Thomas.

"All right," he finally agreed. "But I'm not hander her over until you promise to be careful."

Thomas scowled. "Of course I'll be careful."

Sylar shook his head. "You don't understand." He gingerly placed Allison over his shoulder and eased the blanket down her back.

Thomas gasped loudly.

Protruding from Allison's back, exactly where her shoulder blades were supposed to be, were some very different types of bones. They looked fragile and all-too-breakable, folded tightly against her back, arching up to the top of her curved shoulders before sharply falling to her mid-back, perfectly proportional to her tiny infant body. The skeleton was covered by a thin membrane, opaque enough to see each bone in detail.

Eyes wide, Thomas stuttered, "Are those . . . are those _wings_?"

Sylar nodded solemnly, stroking her soft skin. "No need to guess if Ally picked up the ability gene."

"_Wings_?"

All sets of eyes immediately shot to Shadow, sitting straight up in the hospital bed, a shocked expression on her face as she clutched the sheets in her fists.

Shadow had woken slowly after her detour to the plane between, conversation gradually drifting into her consciousness. When Thomas's gasp registered, her eyes blinked open to join the scene.

Sylar breathed a sigh of relief. "You're awake," he smiled.

Shadow's eyes locked on Allison. "She has wings?" she repeated incredulously.

Peter and Sylar exchanged nervous glances. "Yes, she has wings," Peter confirmed. "And you can control the shadows that wrecked havoc on the delivery."

Shadow blinked. "I'm just a little surprised, that's all," she explained, a smile beginning to spread across her face. "That's so incredible. _She's_ incredible." Her eyes danced.

Peter smirked. "So are you," he said. "Feeling better?"

"Much," Shadow replied. "May I hold my daughter, Sylar?" Her voice was cool, not knowing exactly where they stood in regards to the relationship, besides parenting the special little girl in her father's arms.

Sylar nodded, noting her controlled tone with a pang of sadness. "Of course you can," he said softly, standing and handing Allison over to her mother's embrace with care.

Shadow looked down at her daughter and smiled gently. "Hey there, beautiful," she whispered. "I'm your mom. You know that? And I am going to love you so much."

"Don't forget the rest of us, Fae," Thomas interrupted with a grin. "She'll never be unloved, not with a family like this."

Peter noticed Sylar looking more than a little lost in the corner. "All right, Tom," he said quickly. "How about we leave these new parents alone for a while, hm? Family bonding time."

"_I'm_ family," Thomas protested, even as Peter ushered him out of the room. "But I haven't even held her yet!"

The room briefly filled with the sounds of hospital mayhem, and then fell silent as Peter and Thomas closed the door behind them.

Shadow continued cooing affectionately to Allison as Sylar moved to their side. He stood awkwardly, peering down at his daughter but glancing at Shadow from the corner of his eye. The silence stretched between them, broken only by Allison's meaningless baby babble. Watching Shadow, Sylar realized, _She's glowing_. A smile touched his mouth unbidden. His gaze shifted back to his daughter.

"She has your eyes," he said softly, "and your ears."

"Your mouth," Shadow remarked. She gently traced the curve of Allison's delicate face. "She's so tiny."

"She'll grow," Sylar reminded her. "Just wait until people start saying how much she looks like her mother." He paused. "She'll be a heartbreaker, no doubt."

Shadow quietly placed her finger in Allison's palm; the baby convulsively closed her tiny fingers around the digit. Both parents smiled in delighted wonder. Allison stared at each of them in turn with wide, innocent eyes.

"You'll live in the apartment?" Sylar eventually questioned.

Shadow tore her eyes from Allison to meet his gaze. "No," she replied evenly. "Thomas arranged for me to move into a new complex. It's nicer – I have my own bedroom, and Allison will have a nursery. Plus the kitchen and bathroom and such."

He nodded. "I saw the boxes," he explained awkwardly, "and I wondered."

"Well, that's the story."

They descended into silence again. Sylar sighed.

"Look, Shadow . . . whatever you need me from me, whatever Allison needs . . ." he met Shadow's piercing stare directly. "I want to help."

"We don't need your help," Shadow said harshly.

Sylar's face fell. "Shadow, don't do this. She deserves to know her father."

She scowled at him, eyes flashing. "You said so yourself, Sylar. You discovered you were going to be a father and became such on the very same day."

"So you'll deny me the rest of my life?" Sylar demanded angrily.

"You left," Shadow shot back.

"I didn't _know_!" he said exasperatedly.

Allison's voice rose in a wail, and Shadow immediately cuddled her closer.

"Shh . . ." she soothed. "Shh, Ally. Daddy's sorry. He didn't mean to raise his voice, baby. Shh . . ." At Shadow's words, Allison quieted, reverting to her wide-eyed stare. Shadow glared up at Sylar.

"I'm sorry," he obediently said, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry I got angry, I'm sorry I was scared, I'm sorry I ran. If you want, I can be sorry I came back."

Shadow dropped her gaze, sighing. "No. Don't be sorry about that. I couldn't have gone through the delivery without you, Sylar."

He let a grin slide onto his face. "My pleasure," he said softly. He sobered. "Shadow, I ran from you because I was afraid of losing control. I don't handle emotions very well, because they're bigger than me. I was fighting something I couldn't control . . ." Sylar met her gaze. "I don't want to fight it anymore."

Shadow stared back coolly, although her stomach felt funny and her heart fluttered against her ribcage."

"Shadow . . . I love you."

She blinked and dropped her eyes to Allison. "Well, I don't love you," she mumbled.

"Really."

"Yes."

Sylar reached out and cupped her face, pulling Shadow to face him. Not giving her time to react, he swooped in and pressed his lips to hers, trying to convey his feelings and his need for her without being overwhelming. To his delight, she fairly melted into the kiss, eyes closing of their own accord.

Shadow inwardly cursed. He had to be the devil reincarnated. His oh-so-deliciously-sinful mouth broke her barriers so easily, made her believe that they could be a family. Sylar wasn't pressuring her, not by any means – in fact, he was already pulling away, giving her space, before she was ready for it to be over . . . . Her eyes opened slowly, a slightly glazed look that couldn't quite focus.

Sylar couldn't help but smirk.

She blinked and looked away from him. "That proves nothing," she mumbled, a little indignant, but her voice held a teasing lilt that made hope soar in Sylar.

"I'm not asking for much, Shadow," he said softly, pressing his luck as far as he dared. "Just a chance. I want the opportunity to show you that I can be the father Allison needs me to be . . ." he paused, "and the lover that you want me to be."

She bit her lip as she considered him. "You know I might want more than that, later, right?"

Sylar nodded. He would bring her the stars if that's what it took to prove his commitment to their family, dysfunctional though it might be. "I'm willing to talk that over with you in the future, Shadow."

Shadow offered him a small, timid smile. "I think I'd like that."

"Yeah?" he grinned, obviously relieved.

"Yeah."

He leaned down to kiss her again, and Shadow eagerly reciprocated, warmly welcoming him back into her life. Sylar pulled back and stroked her cheek reverently. "I love you," he told her.

She hesitated. "I'm still working on that . . ." she replied with a slight frown.

"I can wait."

Shadow grinned, pleased with the easy equilibrium their relationship had reached. She glanced down at Allison, passively watching the exchange between mother and father.

"So," Shadow slyly glanced up at Sylar, "wings, hm?"

He laughed, a rich baritone that sounded beautiful in her ears. "Well, with parents like us, what else would you expect?"

Shadow smiled and wriggled over in the bed. She nodded to the vacant space. "Join us."

Almost gracefully, Sylar folded his lanky frame next to Shadow and Allison in the bed, wrapping an arm around the former's shoulder. Together they gazed down at their daughter.

"Tell me something," Sylar said, brushing his fingers up and down her arm lightly. "When you brought me home last year, did you ever imagine that anything like this would happen?"

"Never ," she replied immediately, resting her head against his shoulder. "But I'm glad it did."

He smiled into her hair. "Yeah," he whispered, "me too."

Shadow raised her head up and twisted her neck to look at him. "Sylar, if you're serious about being part of our lives the way you're talking . . . will you do something for me?"

"Anything," he said without hesitation.

She kissed him briefly. "Will you take a trip with us?"

* * * * * *

"Get off the highway here," Shadow instructed from the backseat.

Sylar glanced in the rearview mirror. "I thought you lived in Hell," he said, recalling something from a long time ago. "And you know you can sit up here."

"I don't want her to get lonely," Shadow snapped, playing with Allison in the backseat. Sylar resisted a major eye roll. "I did live in Hell, but dad moved after the accident . . . God, that was three years now. I don't think he could handle living in the same house that mom had died in, so he moved to another town nearby. Thomas gave me his address."

"You dad doesn't know you're coming?"

"I probably should have called, at least, but I want it to be a surprise."

Sylar chuckled. "Oh, yes, quite the surprise. You, back after three years, with an ex-serial killer, and your two-week old daughter, fathered by said ex-serial killer." He glanced back briefly. "Shadow, you're going to give him a heart attack."

"He's stronger than that," Shadow retorted. "Turn left at the next light."

It felt like Sylar had barely blinked before they were pulling into the driveway of a modest one-bedroom, one-story house, a few resilient flowers dotting the flowerbed out front. He took a deep breath as he cut the engine. He had agreed to drive to Michigan to see Shadow's father, but the caution was permanently pressed into his sub-cranium.

"Let me take her," he offered as he opened the back door. "Hopefully you'll be smothered in hugs before long, and we wouldn't want Ally to get crushed."

"Yeah, especially those wings," Shadow agreed, carefully transferring her daughter into the waiting arms of Sylar, who held her as if she were the most breakable object in the world. Shadow smiled. He took to being a father quite well. It was obvious he adored Allison, and he made sure to tell both of them every day that he loved them.

Shadow climbed out, her hands shaking slightly, and took a deep breath of her own. Unconsciously, she reached out for Sylar; he twined their fingers together, perfectly willing to be her anchor. Hand-in-hand, Sylar cradling Allison in one arm, the family walked up the sidewalk leading to the front door in silence.

Just before Shadow raised her fist to knock, Sylar stole a tender kiss. He locked eyes with her. "No matter what happens, I love you. I'm here for you, Shadow."

She nodded shakily and timidly knocked on the glass of the door. Sylar would have smiled if the situation wasn't so serious – she would break his fingers if she clutched onto him any more tightly. Allison babbled softly and he shushed her, kissing her delicate head gently.

From inside, they heard footsteps approaching the door. Shadow glanced up at Sylar fearfully, and he replied with a reassuring smile and firmly squeezed her hand. They both faced the door as it was pulled open.

Sylar immediately recognized the finer features of Shadow which had been inherited from her father. The exact set of her eyes, the curve of her jaw that he loved so much. Mr. Montgomery had dark hair streaked with grey and a face weathered by the years, but his eyes were sharp. Sylar also knew that he had been right to take Allison.

"Faith?" the man gasped as he took them in. He instantly stepped forward, folding Shadow in his embrace.

Sylar watched them silently, cradling Allison closer to the warmth of his body. He knew exactly how Mr. Montgomery felt, reunited with his daughter. Already he couldn't imagine being separated from Ally for a day, much less three years. He loved her too damn much to ever let her go.

_Oh, no_, he thought suddenly_. Daddy's little girl already_.

Shadow and her father parted, tears falling slowly down each of their faces. Shadow wiped furiously at hers. "Hi dad," she smiled weakly.

The man sighed heavily, breaking out in a smile identical to his daughter's. "I hoped you would come back, Faith," he confessed, "someday." His eyes shifted to the pair standing beside them. "And you didn't come alone."

"Dad," Shadow began timidly, "this is Gabriel Gray. We're . . . well, we're together. Gabriel, this is my father, Scott Montgomery."

Sylar reached out with his free hand and Scott shook it firmly, nodding. "Gabriel. Glad to meet you."

"And you, sir," Sylar replied respectfully.

Shadow subtly indicated that Sylar hand Allison over to her, and he complied wordlessly. Allison squirmed a little, but quieted in her mother's arms. Shadow turned back to her father, who was watching them sharply, half in curiosity and half in wonder.

"This," Shadow said softly, staring down at her daughter, "is Allison Gabrielle. She's your granddaughter."

"I gathered," Scott countered with a warm smile. Sylar chuckled inwardly – so that's where she got her wit. "She's absolutely beautiful, Faith."

"No lectures about my age?" she wondered, only quasi-teasing.

Scott shook his head. "You've been on your own for years now. If you think you can handle a kid, I trust that you have the judgment for it."

"I will have help," Shadow said, shooting a soft look in Sylar's direction, which did not go unnoticed by her father. Her gaze returned to his. "I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry I left, and –"

"Stop, Faith," Scott interrupted her gently. "You don't need to apologize. I've come to terms with your mother's death, and you have to know that I don't blame you."

"You knew it was me?"

"I suspected after Thomas told me about your ability."

Shadow looked surprised. "Thomas told you?"

Scott chuckled. "Thomas tells me many things, honey. Like the fact that you," he nodded at Sylar, "ran out of my girl about ten months ago."

Sylar met his eyes evenly. "A very large mistake, sir. One I never would have made if I had known the circumstances."

"I believe you," Scott nodded solemnly. "But if you do it again, you'll answer to me."

"Understood."

Shadow touched her father's shoulder. "Daddy? Would you like to hold her?"

Scott broke out into a brilliant grin. "Would I ever," he said softly.

"Just be careful," she warned. "Allison has two special parents, which makes her one very special girl."

"Her ability's manifested already?"

"Wings."

"I see."

He carried Allison just as Sylar did. As Scott cooed and whispered to his granddaughter, Sylar turned to Shadow with a smile.

"I'm glad I came along," he told her.

She nodded. "Me too," she stole a warm kiss from him, "and I'm glad you're staying with us."

He laughed. "With a threat from your father? Shadow, you'll never get rid of me!"

"What ever will I do?" she teased. "Hey, Sylar?"

"Gabriel, don't you mean?"

"Gabriel," she repeated, loving the feel of his name on her tongue. "Will you call me Faith?"

He smiled gently, caressing her cheek. "Of course I will . . . Faith." They both grinned at that. "Something else on your mind?"

"Yes," she said. "Gabriel, do you love me?"

Sylar smirked. "You know I do, Faith."

"I think I love you too."

His eyes lit up. "Do you?"

"Yes."

He sighed happily and leaned in to kiss her again. "Know what this makes us, Faith?"

"Mm, tell me."

"One big happy family."

* * *

A/N: Yup, super sappy. I figured my first full-length fanfic might as well end on a happy note. But it isn't over yet! One epilogue, on its way.

Thanks for sticking with me, everyone! I appreciate it!


	32. Epilogue: No More Running

_Five Years Later . . ._

"Allison!" Shadow scolded. "Return your feet to the ground this instant! How many times have I told you not to fly inside the house?"

Five-year-old Allison sulkily dropped to the floor, her wings extended just enough to make her landing graceful. She crossed her arms in an act of child-like defiance, tucking her wings in close to her back. "It's raining," Allison whined. "I'm not going to fly out in the rain."

"Well, you aren't flying in the house," Shadow said, smoothing a hand over her daughter's hair – indeed as dark and full as her father's, as they had predicted. Her wings had taken on the glossy night of a raven's feathers, reminiscent of Shadow's locks, which caught the faintest light and brought out the rainbow undertones.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Allison demanded, her intelligent eyes torn between annoyance and pleading.

Shadow kneeled down to eye level. "Why don't you go finish packing?" she suggested. "I saw Max next to your pillow this morning. You wouldn't want to go to Uncle Peter's house without Max, would you? And I won't bring him into the city for you," Shadow cautioned.

Allison gasped and rushed to the stairs, climbing them as quickly as her short legs would allow. Shadow smiled fondly as she watched her daughter go.

A pair of arms looped around her slightly bulging middle, pulling her into a lanky, muscular frame. Shadow relaxed into the body, sighing softly.

"Peter called," Sylar spoke softly in her ear. "He'll be here in five minutes."

"I just sent Allison upstairs to get her bear," Shadow murmured.

"And Thomas?"

Shadow mock-groaned. "Ever since he learned to walk . . . how am I supposed to keep track of him?"

"Faith!" Sylar gasped. "You really must stop losing our son!"

She laughed. "Please, Gabriel, you insult me." She rested her head back against his shoulder. "He's in the front playroom."

Sylar breathed a sigh. "Well he could have fun in there for hours."

"Mm, yes." Shadow bit her lip. "I hope Peter covered his furniture."

"You know Peter doesn't mind," Sylar whispered against her temple, his lips ghosting over the area deliciously. "We should start getting his shoes on."

"Since it'll take forever?"

"Exactly," Sylar replied with a smirk.

Together the couple walked through the living room to the doorway of the playroom.

The 'playroom' was different than a typical three-year-old's, but Thomas enjoyed it nonetheless. Many separate furniture pieces decorated the area – recliner chairs, sofas, loveseat. Curtains hung to the floor on the two windows, the late afternoon sun peeking through the storm clouds in the sky and painting the room a dull gold.

Thomas Peter Gray sat beneath one of these windows, giggling to himself. Shadow and Sylar each leaned against a side of the doorframe, watching him with open adoration. With child-like innocence, Thomas reached out a hand and touched a curtain; the fabric immediately changed from wine burgundy to forest green. Shadow smiled approvingly. The patterned wall looked wrong now, but another simple touch from the small boy made the wall a lighter, softer green to contrast beautifully with the curtains.

"We'll never need an interior decorator," Sylar muttered under his breath.

"He does good work," Shadow softly said. "It's an incredible ability, and so very nonthreatening." Her voice drew the attention of her son, who swiveled his head to look at them.

"Mommy!" Thomas exclaimed excitedly, scrambling to his little feet. He swayed before toddling toward his parents with a wide grin on his face.

Sylar muttered under his breath, but the smirk betrayed his amusement.

"Of course he loves me more," Shadow teased. "When you start delivering living organisms yourself, then we can talk."

"Come here, you," Sylar said, scooping Thomas into his arms.

"Hi daddy," the boy giggled. "Like room?"

Sylar chuckled. "I sure do, kiddo. You've got a great imagination."

Thomas grinned widely. Shadow's eyes sparkled affectionately as she watched their interaction. Thomas craved his father's approval and Sylar delivered. Their son was more dependent than Allison, but then he didn't have the option of excessive freedom like his sister. It was hard to keep that girl's feet on the ground.

A melodious tone chimed throughout the house and an excited squeal could be heard from the upstairs floor. Sylar laughed quietly, shifting Thomas to one arm and reaching out to Shadow with the other.

"Shall we?" he smiled.

Hand in hand they walked into the kitchen; Allison had already pulled the visitors into the house, her wings fluttering as they tended to do when she experienced strong emotion. She was talking quickly, her words almost slurring together in her ecstasy.

"Allison," Shadow chided. "Calm down. You'll be with them all weekend." She turned a warm smile to her friends. "Hey, guys."

"Uncle Peter!" Thomas cried, extending his arms and squirming in Sylar's hold.

"What about me?" Leigha smirked, hands on her hips.

Allison grabbed Leigha's arm. "It's a boy thing," she said smartly.

"I see," Leigha said, fighting a laugh. "Silly boys."

"Yes," Allison agreed matter-of-factly, "silly boys."

Sylar smirked as he handed his son over to Peter. "Alli, go bring your bag from upstairs," he told her.

"Can I fly?" she asked hopefully.

"Not inside the house," he said in a tone that suggested he had given this response many times before.

Allison grumbled quietly as she headed for the stairs.

"Sure you want them both for the weekend?" Shadow asked with a smile.

Leigha laughed. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can handle them."

Peter bounced the boy gently. "We're going to have fun, aren't we buddy?"

Shadow grinned at the pair. Leigha had chosen to permanently take up residence in New York after Allison's birth, and about a year later she and Peter had tentatively begun a relationship. It had progressed quite nicely, and they now lived together in the city; Peter had sold the house to Shadow and Sylar after being told about the soon-to-be-birth of Thomas, where Alli could fly without witnesses in the country. Shadow fully expected Peter to take the final step in his and Leigha's relationship very soon. Both Sylar and Shadow trusted them implicitly, and it helped to have trustworthy sitters for their children.

"We really appreciate your doing this," Shadow said gratefully.

Peter shrugged off her thanks. "It's our pleasure, Faith." He smiled. "Consider it an anniversary gift."

"Four years is babysitting," Sylar smirked, wrapping an arm around Shadow's waist. "I'll have to remember that."

Shadow instinctively touched the ring on her finger. She had thought the proposition of marriage from Sylar to be a joke, but he had convinced her otherwise and they had become husband and wife in early September the year of Allison's birth. Some mornings it stunned her to wake up and feel the diamond's weight on her hand. Some mornings it stunned her to wake up and remember that she was the mother of two.

Allison ran back into the kitchen, dragging her packed duffel bag in one hand and clutching Max the bear with her other. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!" she chanted.

"I see we aren't wanted," Shadow whispered to Sylar. He brushed his lips over her temple in response.

"Say bye to Mom and Dad," Leigha kindly instructed.

Shadow kneeled to receive Allison's hurtling hug. "Don't fly inside the apartment, okay honey? I'm sure you remember the hanging light incident. We want Peter and Leigha to invite you over again, right?"

"I know, Mom," Allison rolled her eyes. They hugged tightly.

"I love you, baby," Shadow whispered before sending Alli over to her father.

After all good-byes had been said and all hugs and kisses had been given, Shadow and Sylar watched the car vanish over the horizon, a flurry of mud trailing in their wake. They sighed in unison.

"I hate watching them leave," Shadow confessed softly.

Sylar chuckled. "They'll be back soon enough, and we'll be chasing Thomas around and reminding Allison she can only fly outside, and only as far as the clearing. And you wanted another one," he muttered lovingly. "But now . . ."

He gently guided Shadow to face him and gave her a soft, searching kiss before enveloping her in a tender embrace. "Alone at last."

"Mm," she muttered her agreement. "When's the last time that happened?"

"A year, maybe more," Sylar smirked. He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Come on, I have a surprise for you up in the bedroom."

Shadow laughed as he led her up the stairs. "They haven't even been gone five minutes, Gabriel."

He rolled his eyes over his shoulder. "I might be a man, but really, Faith. Don't you think I've learned a touch of romance from you over the years? Don't you think I can exercise some of that knowledge myself, especially on our anniversary?"

"Can you?" she shot back, giggling. Her giggle faded into a gasp as she took in the candlelit table already prepared with her favorite dinner, the scattered rose petals that fairly blanketed the floor, and the diamond necklace conspicuously draped on the champagne glass.

She went to the necklace first, as any girl with an eye for sparkle is wont to do, and cupped it in her hands with reverence. "You spoil me," Shadow told him breathlessly. "I love you for that."

"Just for that, hm?" He walked up behind her, taking the necklace out of her hands and fastening it around her neck. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"I especially love you when you say things like that."

He kissed her with ardor, clearly conveying his love. Sylar had never thought of himself as husband material, and a far cry from the role of a father, but then Shadow – Faith – had entered his life and (sappy though it was) his heart. So now he had a band on his finger and two beautiful children, with a third on the way. They were luckily to have so much happiness in their lives.

He inwardly chuckled. The Sylar from five years ago never would have believed such sentimental words to flit across his mind; had someone told him such, he might have actually been inclined to kill the person in question.

Lucky for the Sylar – Gabriel – of today, circumstances had changed for the better.

"Let's eat, shall we?" he murmured against her lips.

"Of course," she replied. "Eating for two and all that."

Sylar affectionately rubbed the swollen bump of her stomach before they both settled in.

"Oh, God, fettuccini alfredo, my favorite!" Shadow gushed, snatching up a fork immediately.

Her husband smiled. "Well, by now I'm used to your pregnancy cravings. Speaking of . . ." he paused to swallow a forkful of pasta, "have we started to think of names yet?"

"One thing's for sure," she said matter-of-factly, "we've run out of people to name him after."

"Him?" Sylar waggled his eyebrows.

"Or her," Shadow corrected herself. "But before I knew the people that I have in my life now, I always liked the name Ayden, for a boy anyway. Ayden Dominic . . ." she said dreamily.

"Ayden?" he repeated, clearly amused with her choice. "Does that have some sort of significance?"

"'Little fire,'" she answered softly, a smile dancing around her lips.

"Ah," Sylar nodded. "Setting him up for an ability already?"

She laughed heartily. "I never really thought of it like that, but I wouldn't complain if that happened to be the case."

"Not until he started setting the furniture on fire every other day. Think of how upset Thomas would be if his little brother destroyed his creative environment."

Shadow mock-gasped, "The horror." She thought for a moment. "There's also the insurance to consider, of course."

"You have an alternative for a baby girl, I presume?" he reached across the table and caressed the soft skin of her hand.

"Why am I the only one spitballing here? Don't you have any preferences?" Shadow asked.

"You're a member of the female population," Sylar told her with a knowing smirk. "By definition, you'll have had the names of your children picked out for years, even before you met me."

"That's such a stereotype," she frowned.

"Humor me?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but a smile still managed to escape. "Londyn," she finally confessed. "Londyn Alexa."

"I knew it," he chuckled, not unkindly. "Where do you come up with these, love?"

"I use my creativity," she countered.

Sylar took the opportunity to move to her side, brushing her hair over her shoulder. He kissed the bare skin there. "I can think of a few ways where that creativity might be useful . . ." he whispered suggestively.

She giggled. "I believe you do just fine in that category, but I'm happy to lend my expertise."

He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in a strong embrace. Sylar lowered his mouth to hers in an ardent kiss, feeling her rapid heartbeat fluttering against his chest. They broke the kiss breathlessly and rested their foreheads together.

"Did you ever imagine it would turn out like this?" he asked softly, stroking her cheek.

"Did I ever imagine our lives would become you and me plus three?" She shook her head minutely. "No. When we found each other in that alley, I was running from my life, from who I was, from the ability I had."

He kissed her nose. "And now?"

Shadow smiled. "I'm not running anymore."

Later that night, Sylar lay with her in his arms and tightened his hold. "You know, I'm glad you knocked me unconscious that night."

She scowled at him. "I didn't do that on pur–"

He silenced her with another strategic kiss. "I love you, Faith. Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary, Gabriel."

* * *

Final A/N: Success! This is the end of _Shadows of the Heart_, readers. I wholeheartedly thank each and every one of you who have followed me from the beginning or joined along the way and stuck with it! You are all appreciated, because it's really no fun to write just for yourself. That's why I love you all!

Put me on Author Alert to keep up with more of my work coming soon! (Shameless self-promotion, I know)


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